We Shall All Be Healed
by Daydreamishly
Summary: Ginny's been dead for two years. Remus has been dead for twenty. Dolohov, a week. Which is, incidentally, how long Harry has been dreaming about trying to escape from a coffin. Slow-building Remus/Harry; canon-compliant through epilogue.
1. 068 HERO

**Title:** We Shall All Be Healed  
><strong>Author:<strong> Daydreamishly  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> RLHP; mentions HPGW and RLNT. Side pairings are canon.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T, but subject to change.  
><strong>Warning(s):<strong> Slash. References non-canon major character death. Shifting POV.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Ginny's been dead for two years. Remus has been dead for twenty. Dolohov, a week. Which is, incidentally, how long Harry has been dreaming about trying to escape from a coffin. Canon-compliant through epilogue. 100 themes challenge.

**Disclaimer: Characters, world not owned by me, other than Madam Jane Mullins and Maddox Brown, as well as any other original characters that crop up unannounced. Everything else is JKR.**

Chapter One. 900 Words.

Theme 068: Hero.

Being in this office always reminded Harry strangely of Madame Trelawney's old divination classroom, more velvet and incense than air to breathe. Not because of any explicit similarity, but as a reference of a place becoming an extension of self- as much a physical characteristic of a person as hairstyle or eye colour or jaw shape- perhaps these two paralleled. But while the divination tower had been drenched in drama and eccentricity, this office was sleek, clean lines; very modern, and analytical. There were dull, muted blues and greys for the colour scheme, selected perfunctorily, as though its resident would have preferred to do away with the intrusion to her very clearly defined work environment, and the furniture was all dark and leather-covered; well made and comfortable, but a bit impersonal, all the same. It belonged, incongruously, to the woman whose job it was to make sure Harry Potter (amongst others) was in touch with his emotions.

Harry had been seeing a therapist at St Mungo's since his wife died. Her name was Mullins, and she was young enough that her time at Hogwarts was a few years removed from the war. Muggle-born as well; Harry's celebrity was relatively obscure to her; a vaguely remarkable name in an endless system of scarred veterans. This was why he liked her: his issues were part of a person to her, not a legacy.

About the time it all started (the recent it, not the "it" people usually associated him with), Harry described to Mullins a recurring dream he had been having for the last week. Their appointments were now bi-weekly; down from the three times a week Harry was ordered to meet her after Ginny's death, and his subsequent breakdown. When Harry told her that every night of the last seven, he had imagined himself in a coffin, desperately clawing his way out, before he stopped to literally _howl_ with frustration, Mullins had interpreted readily, "You feel trapped by your high profile."

Harry told that her this was not news. This was a succinct one-lined summary of the last twenty-five years of his life.

"The Dolohov case has brought you from the gossip columns back into the spotlight," she reasoned, and again, Harry was not impressed by the obviousness of the conclusion. Antonin Dolohov had died the week previous, old, but too young for it to have been natural. The press had followed Harry everywhere of late, asking if Ihe thought the mysterious and sudden passing of the criminal in his cell at Azkaban had been an assassination by other former members of the Death Eaters who were trying to keep certain information secret, or if he'd been tortured by the guards, when it seemed that very few were enthusiastic about his not being executed, or if he'd poisoned himself.

"So you're saying that once I solve the case, and everything goes back to normal, the dreams will go away." Easier said than done. Azkaban was not even under Harry's line of jurisdiction; as an auror, he dealt with _putting_ people in prison, not _keeping_ them there. There were separate lines of authority to handle this. But Harry was the hero of the war, and the public expected _him_ to do something about it. So on top of running his own Department at the Ministry (which, in all truthfulness, had at least partially been delegated to his second-in-command, Ron Weasley, since Ginny's death, although that didn't change its being a time-consuming and stressful job, with little to no opportunity for immediate gratification), Harry was now examining autopsy reports and interviewing Azkaban officials and residents whilst the people at the Prophet stepped on his heels everywhere he went.

"Maybe you should take a vacation."

Harry involuntarily let a single humourless bark of laughter like a cannon shot go before letting his head fall against the back of the leather armchair he sat in. "Yeah, that's likely."

"Seriously," Mullins insisted, sitting forward eagerly in her chair. She had curly black hair that fell forward into her broad, tanned, heart-shaped face. Her eyes widened a little, bright with intelligent thought, and her already thin lips pressed together momentarily into a single line of concern. She wasn't a pretty girl, but well-groomed, and shrewd; as Ravenclaw as they came. "You know yourself well enough to know you have a hero complex to begin with. You can't fix everything. This isn't your responsibility. Let the proper channels deal with this, and you go to some quiet island in the Carribbean somewhere- _buy_ one if you have to; you certainly have the money- and be calm."

Harry groaned. "You aren't going to give me a choice about this, are you?"

Mullins grinned, abandoned the couch opposite him, and walked over to her desk, before turning out a slip of paper with her prescription and signature, which he was required to submit to the bureaucratic channels in order to retain my position at the Ministry. "Sorry, Doctor's orders. Don't look at this as a bad thing, now. You haven't had a proper block of time off in six years. And no one would call bereavement much of a holiday."

"Yeah, well." Harry accepted the paper, glancing at it and resigning himself to the maelstrom of bad press ahead. His personal assistant, Maddox Brown, was going to have a nervous breakdown. "Tell that to Rita Skeeter."

A/N: New update will post tomorrow. This has been sitting on my hard drive for forever and a half, and watching everyone else do NaNoWriMo made me feel guilty for not writing much the last few weeks. So here's this. Hopefully I'll turn the majority of it out in a timely manner. Sorry for no Remus this chapter; he'll be here shortly, I promise.


	2. 070 67 PERCENT

Chapter Two. 900 Words.

Theme 070. Sixty-Seven Percent.

Thursday dinner at the Potter home was once a crowded affair. Harry, Ginny, Andromeda, the four children, and often various members of the Weasley clan, occasionally a Longbottom or Scamander or Finnigan or Thomas or two; plenty of space, but still enough noise that the dining room sounded more like a crowded pub than a family residence. Harry and Ginny preferred it like this; one did not call the Burrow home for most of one's life without result. But tonight, Harry and Teddy Lupin sat across from each other at one end of the long, rectangular dining room table and ate baked spaghetti, something Harry could actually cook without feeling apprehensive of the result, and tried not to let the quietness dampen conversation. Maddox had been invited to stay, but she rarely did. Harry suspected she and her beau were getting into something rather more serious these days; he mentioned this casually to Teddy, who had still not come clean about the secret engagement to Victoire Weasley that absolutely everyone knew about.

"I expect she'll be marrying somewhat soon, not that she's told me," Harry said while grating some Parmesan over his plate, and then couldn't help himself from adding, "Although I think keeping me in the dark when we're practically family is sort of inconsiderate."

"I'm sure she has her reasons," Teddy replied lightly. He took a sip of wine, contemplated his glass for a second, and his eyebrows drew together. Three seconds later, when Harry and he met eyes across the table, bright green pupils met burgundy.

"Well, she'll be glad to get rid of me for the week and spend some time with him, in any case. I keep telling her to take more personal days, but she seems to think I'll crawl into a crevice in the cupboard and hide their, if left to my own devices."

"She wouldn't be so far off," Teddy shrugged. "When's the last time you went to see Uncle Ron?"

"I see him every day at work," Harry replied irritably.

"You know what I mean."

"Sorry my work schedule is a little too heavy for the social life everyone seems to presume I should have, then." Harry drank from his own glass of water rather deeply.

"That's bollocks, Harry." Teddy put his fork down and stared at his godfather evenly. "Since Aunt Ginny died, you hardly ever initiate social calls. Even with your friends. People who care about you."

"You make me sound like some deeply depressed widower." When Teddy said nothing, Harry continued, "But I'm not. I'm not throwing parties or anything, but I think I handle myself quite well, considering. I still function, don't I?"

"Depends on your definition," Teddy counters. Harry sighs.

"Look, I don't want to argue with you on your last night here. What about Victoire, then? Is she going to visit you while you're abroad?"

At this, Teddy cracks a crooked grin. "Well, I've absolutely forbidden her to take time away from her medical training, so naturally she'll show up within a month, and I'll have to call up Fleur to bring her home."

Harry smiles slightly. "She definitely has a bit of Weasely obstinance in her, that one. Plus the veela blood, she's a right nightmare to argue with, I'm sure. Suppose any of her kids will be completely intractable." Another trap. Subtle enough?

"Wouldn't know about any of that," Teddy shrugs, and no, Harry supposes it hadn't been. He frowns deeply. "Anyway. When do you leave for the Bahamas?"

"Saturday. It was the earliest I could get out. And then a full week of sitting on my arse, letting things go haywire here. I'm sure I'll go completely spare by the end of the first two days."

"Not just the sixty-seven percent we're working with now," Teddy grins again, and Harry mirrors it. "What made them decide to throw you out for the week, anyway?"

Harry paused here. It was always an awkward affair, telling people he was having nightmares. It was one thing to report to his therapist, who was paid to deal with those sorts of issues, and another to announce to family members who had daily blocks of time devoted to worrying about him even without his crazy dreams.

"Just not sleeping well," he settled on.

"Is it the..." Teddy carefully did not meet Harry's eye. "...The Dolohov thing?"

Harry stared intently at Teddy, who had yet to seriously talk to Harry about the scandal surrounding the man who had murdered his father. "Yes," he answered honsetly, "That's part of it."

"Well, if it's any comfort," Teddy said, almost muttering by this point, "It's been keeping me awake at night, too."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he did something he hadn't done since Teddy was very young, and grasped his godson's hand across the table, briefly, before inclining his head. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really. There aren't words for any of it, anyway."

Harry kept himself from laughing darkly, but only just. When had he become so cynical? When had Teddy grown so much?

"I know, son," he answers. "I know."


	3. 041 TEAMWORK

Chapter Three. 800 Words.

Theme 041. Teamwork.

"Now, the resort is for Muggles, so if anyone asks remember that you got your scar _in a car crash_," Maddox reminded him, buzzing around the foyer of his large home with a clipboard that kept shifting colours in hand in a way that must have made sense to her, because she frowned deeply, only smoothing her countenance over when it became what Harry could not help but think of as a rather chastised-looking indigo.

Despite her annoyance, the personal assistant had risen gallantly to the task of making last-minute arrangements to extricate him to the Caribbean for a week. Ron was also helping, taking up Harry's personal side project at Azkaban, despite having even less obligation than Harry, and Madam Mullins had "let it slip" to a connection at the Prophet that Harry's absolute tenacity and doggedness regarding the Dolohov case had simply overworked him to the point of being a danger to his health.

It was moments like these when it most impacted Harry that, though at the end of the day it was his name and face attached to the front pages, his public identity was as much a culmination of several moving cogs as his own embodiment. Teamwork.

"I'm not leaving until tomorrow morning," Harry said blearily. It was barely six, and Maddox was already running two hundred miles an hour, leaving Harry to assemble his thoughts in the dust. He sipped coffee and leaned against the railing of the stairway as he watched his bags magically pack themselves, a new summer Muggle wardrobe pulled out of nowhere, despite it being late September.

"And we've got several things to take care of before then. Do you even have a passport?"

"Of course I do. I go abroad all the time for work. You know that."

"A _Muggle_ passport, Mr Potter," Maddox elaborated, raising a small hand to her white blonde brow. "You're _flying_ in an _airplane_."

Harry felt overwhelmed. He'd barely slept the night before. Still, there wasn't much to be done for it. He could lament about how stressful vacations were when he was actually on his.

"Okay, what else do we need to do?"

Maddox turned her attention to her clipboard and read off a list, and Harry let his mind wander. The dreams were becoming more vivid, and each night Harry woke up in a cold sweat. More disturbingly, in the two nights since he had been ordered to take time off from work, his dreams had featured the startling revelation that the hands clawing at the box around him were _not his_; and more disturbingly still, he had no idea how he knew this without any light to see. The revelation remained, however, irrevocably truthful. Harry had some experience with prophetic dreams; knew that trusting them could be a horrible mistake. But he also couldn't shake the thought that Voldemort was very permanently dead, and he had saved _one_ life by acting on a dream, at least.

"Mr Potter? You're not even listening, are you?"

"Sorry, Maddox," Harry apologised. The young witch sighed, before replacing her countenance with a resolutely cheerful one.

"You know, Mr Potter, in Slytherin House we had a saying: 'Focus is the key to all doors.'"

"Yeah, we had a saying in Gryffindor, too. 'I hope Voldemort doesn't blow my head off before I graduate.'"

Maddox shook her head, looking faintly amused. "If you're trying to blame your lack of attention span on the fact that you had to save Middle Earth when you were but a young hobbit... I can't even come up with a counterargument. You have to realise that doesn't make sense."

"I'm still a young hobbit," Harry objected.

Maddox raised her eyebrows. "You're nearly forty."

"That's not old. Dumbledore was probably a century and a half when he..."

"Albus Dumbledore was a great wizard."

"I'm a great wizard!" Harry remonstrated, recoiling slightly, only to remember he was on stairs and very sleepy besides. Balance was probably something best not upset. "I defeated a very dark wizard, and everything!"

"Of course, Mr Potter." Maddox said patiently, before walking into the kitchen to get herself some coffee.

"And I'm not old! I still get loads of women who want to sleep with me constantly! Men, too!" He continued to protest.

"Ugh," Maddox wrinkled her nose, pausing in delicately sipping the coffee. "Let me stop you there. I do _not_ want to imagine you having sex."

Harry looked extremely put-out, slumping against the counter.

Maddox sounded very much as though she was trying not to laugh at him. "Don't look so offended. You're quite dashing. You're also my mother's age."

"Yeah, well." Harry glowered, and had nothing else to add, so he simply washed his mug instead. By hand, instead of magically; an ancient habit he had never really escaped.

Maddox really did laugh this time. "You need to get dressed. We'll need to get you to a doctor, and you have social calls to make before you can go."

"Fine," Harry sulked, and trudged up to his room.

A/N: We draw inexorably closer to Remus, I assure you.


	4. 059 NO WAY OUT

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE TO ANY RETURNING READERS.**

These are not the droids you are looking for! I've gone back and added a new chapter: **chapter two** now introduces Teddy, and his relationship with Harry. Today's update is just rectifying my plotting error, I'm afraid. Sorry! Updates will resume as per the normal tomorrow. Thank you for everyone's feedback so far, and if you haven't reviewed yet, please do so. My favourite reviews entail **constructive criticism**; tell me what I could be doing better! Thanks for reading WSABH, everyone. :]

**;**

Chapter Four. 600 Words.

Theme 059. No Way Out.

_There is exhaustion, and then there was the body-and-soul weariness that consumed him. Trapped, buried, and worst of all, quickly losing hope. The spell guaranteed oxygen, but he was also dehydrated, starving, and in danger of being crushed alive if he made the wrong move too quickly. Besides, time was abstruse and undefinable, but he knew it had to have been days. He was almost certain he'd be dead soon. Dead, without seeing his son ever again, or ever knowing what happened to everyone he knew and loved. Dead. He wasn't dead yet, though. The thought struck him as both a reassurance and a threat; an ultimatum handed to him by fate. He could dig his way out, or asphyxiate. But claw wildly as he did, wizard or no, there was no defeating the circumstances against him. He slowly fell immobile. He wasn't getting out. The cold stabbing fear with the realisation also brought with it a horrible resignation: this was to be his death. All he could do was whisper an apology to the one person in his life who had come to expect better of him:_ "Dora..."

**;**

Harry Potter woke with a start, and rushed downstairs, only to find a note on the kitchen table. "Have to take care of errands this morning. I'll meet you at the airport. -Maddox"

Maddox. She'd know what to do.

"About time," Maddox cried when he showed up at the airport. Hermione and Ron were there, also, looking anxious. "Your flight began boarding ten minutes ago. Here's your passport."

"We meant to show you off," Hermione said, wringing her hands.

"Never mind that," Harry said urgently, looking to Ron. "Look, I had a dream last night."

"I know mate, that's what started this entire thing," Ron assured him.

"No! You don't get it! It's Remus, he's-"

"_Harry_, your _flight!_" Maddox urged, pushing him away, but Harry never even glanced away from Ron.

"Harry, I'll look into it. You need to go, now. Your position at the Ministry could be compromised if you don't."

"Promise me," Harry said, immobile. "You'll... Dig him up. Exhume... Whatever. I don't care. Just make _sure_..."

"I promise," Ron replied just as seriously, and only then did Harry allow himself to be shuffled through the gate onto the plane.

By the time Harry landed in Nassau, he had decided he was being thoroughly ridiculous. They were just dreams, brought on by normal stress. Who wouldn't be stressed, under his circumstances? And now he'd transferred that stress to Ron, and given him one more thing to worry about while he was away. There was no helping it now, other than to try and make it up to his friend when he got back. He could take Hermione and him out to dinner; Lord knows he'd seen them rarely enough in the last few months. These thoughts in mind, Harry paid his taxi driver and carried his suitcase to the front desk, waiting for the receptionist to finish with another guest before turning to him with a large, artificial smile.

"I'm checking in," Harry explained. "Reservation for one; Potter, Hary."

"Oh, _you're_ Harry Potter." And Harry, for an alarmed instant, thought she recognised his name as the man who had defeated Voldemort. But she simply continued, "A young woman left a message here for you about two hours ago. Here you go. Now, I'll need to see a form of identification, and then I'll have someone take your bag to... Mr Potter?"

Harry had paled significantly. "I can't... I'm sorry, I have to..." He crushed the message in his palm and bolted back out the doors, and seconds later was heard a resounding _crack_.


	5. 012 INSANITY

Chapter Five. 350 Words.

Theme 012. Insanity

"Where is he." It was not a question so much as a command, and even Ron flinched at the tone of Harry Potter's voice as he took the length of the medical ward in a few long strides.

"Calm down, Harry. There are students resting," Hermione chided gently. "Professor Lupin is in stable condition. They took him down to Hogsmead forty-five minutes ago to Apparate him to St Mungo's.

"What did he say? Is he...?"

"Catatonic," Ron answered, "But they think he'll snap out of it soon enough."

"It's a lot of shock, to wake up in one's own grave," Hermione said darkly.

"Wow, your skills of deduction once again prove absolutely essential," came Harry's acrid response. Harry was pacing now, angry that he had just barely missed seeing Lupin himself. If he had only been able to Apparate just a bit sooner! He was going to have a word with Jane Mullins when this was all over. This vacation had been a horrendous idea from the start; anything could have gone wrong, what if there had been an uprising, what if the kids had needed him?

"Kids... Kids! Someone needs to go inform Teddy!" Harry stopped and spun on the ball of his foot with the obvious intent to run into Hogsmead and Apparate into Andromeda Tonks's home to drag the boy out of bed himself, before Ron caught his arm in the corridor.

"He's already at the hospital with his father," Ron sighed, obviously becoming annoyed with this temporary insanity.

"And who's with him?"

This made Hermione and Ron glance at each other. "Well, we thought we should be here when you arrive," Hermione started.

"He's there _alone_?" Harry sounded horrified. "I've got to... I've got to..." He pulled away from Ron and began descending the stairs, mumbling incoherently.

"Harry, wait, what about _your_ children? Shouldn't you tell them you're back, at least?"

"I _am_ going to be with my son right _now_," Harry said fiercely before storming out of the castle.

**;**

A/N: I may have unintentionally psyched you all out again! Fear not, Remus is hanging out 'round Chapter Seven, which will be out Saturday afternoon. Thank you so much for the reviews so far! I'm going to level with you guys: the reason writers beg fro reviews is because stories with lots of review attract more viewers. So if you'd recommend this story to others, just leave a small note saying you liked it, please. Here, I'll even prewrite a review you can copy/paste into the review section:

Hey Daydreamishly, you asshole, you write some good shit, but I wish your face weren't so ugly. XOXO, [Your Name Here].

That's legit all I ask for. Concrit gets cookies, though. Delicious, delectable, metaphorical cookies.

See you tomorrow!


	6. 026 TEARS

Chapter Six. 1,000 words.

Theme 026. Tears. 

Teddy was waiting for Harry at the hospital. Harry took one look at him and pulled him fiercely into his arms.

"Dad," Teddy said into Harry's shoulder, which he hadn't ever called Harry save once. "Oh fuck, god, fuck, I..." He cried into Harry's shoulder, which had happened more recently: specifically, after Ginny's death.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, glad someone had said it. Because seriously. _Fuck_.

"I spoke to him. I..." Teddy was shaking. "Christ, Harry. I said, 'Hi, I'm your son,' and then I just panicked, and blurted 'I'm sorry, I can't do this,' and ran away." He cried harder for a moment, and Harry only rubbed a hand up and down his back. Eventually, Teddy began to speak again.

"I am so..." Teddy pulled away gently, regaining control of himself, and breathing deeply. He broke off, shoving a shaking hand through his hair, and shook his head. "I have no idea. I don't even know what to feel."

"That's completely understandable." Harry soothed, grounding his godson with a hand on the shoulder.

"No, it's really not," Teddy shook his head again, as though he was trying to clear it. He looked sharply up and met Harry's eyes. "He's alive, and I should be fucking _happy_, Harry, I should-," He broke off with a choked sob and placed his hands over his face and inhaled and exhaled deeply a few times, staving off another round of hysterics. "God, everything is so fucked up. He's my dad, but I don't even _know_ him, Harry. I've literally never said a word to him in my life before today."

Harry offered Teddy a small smile. "So you've got a chance to make it up. That's something most people can't say."

Teddy looked distraught. "But that's the thing, Harry. I _have_ a fa... I have no idea what to say to him."

"Well, I don't want to sound harsh, but you're going to want to start thinking. He's going to come out of shock, and when he does, he's going to want to know you. Victoire, South America. Everything."

"Oh, god, South America. I'm supposed to leave in a week, I can't, I've got to..."

"Okay, just calm down," Harry said, beginning to feel frustrated, but trying to not let it show. "We'll worry about all of that later, okay? Right now, let's just focus on getting your dad better, and home."

Teddy deflated a little, and Harry's heart broke. As collected as Teddy usually presented himself, it was devastating to see him so worked up.

"Gran can't come. She can barely take care of herself, Harry, if I just dump Remus on her and leave..." His grey eyes began to fill with tears again.

"Teddy," Harry said quietly, but firmly. "Remus is your father, but he is not just your responsibility. I'm sure there is a solution to all of this that will not destroy anyone's life." His words were filled with a wry humour, because insofar as tragedies go, someone coming back to life was hardly the most dire he'd ever faced. "He's also my friend, my very close friend, and I'm not about to let anything happen to him _or_ you, okay?"

Teddy nodded, although he didn't look entirely convinced. He wasn't about to collapse, though, so Harry thought it safe to step a pace backwards and give him some breathing room.

"They told me..." Teddy forced out a long breath, and then steeled himself again. Already he was beginning to look more stable, Harry noted with some degree of pride. "They told me how they... They told me about your dreams." When Harry didn't respond to this, Teddy continued: "Harry, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"What was there to tell?" Harry felt a little defensive, but tried to qualm it. His judgment, everything considered, had been sound. He'd consulted with his therapist, and honestly, it was not her fault it was a misdiagnosis. In nine-hundred thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine cases, she would have been correct in her assessment. Harry was, once again, without asking for it, one in a million. "Look, it was just a series of dreams, and I have been really overworked lately. There was no reason to believe-"

"But you did believe it." Teddy interrupted, but it wasn't an accusation, just a statement of fact. "You didn't ignore it, you... You saved his life."

"I just acted on instinct." Harry said uncomfortably, seeing where this was headed. "I'm an auror. If I get a bad feeling about something, it's something I've learned to pay attention to. It's not a big deal."

"It's a very big deal," Teddy disagreed. "But we'll pretend it isn't one, if it'll make it easier."

"Yeah, that'd be great," Harry answered immediately.

"Where are Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione?"

"I dunno. At Hogwarts still, I expect, talking with Headmistress Harker. They should be here any minute."

Teddy nodded, but ran a hand roughly over his face, and Harry could see the exhaustion in his frame.

"You don't have to wait for them. You've seen your dad already. We'll make sure he isn't alone when he wakes up."

"I..." Teddy looks as though he wants to refuse the offer, and really, its only a testament to his exhaustion that he doesn't insist on staying with Harry. "Okay, I'll be back in a few hours. Thank you."

"No problem."

"And Harry." Teddy tried to communicate with his eyes his gratefulness, and Harry knew it wasn't just for waiting here with Remus.

"Yeah. Go get some rest."

**;**

A/N: ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR SOME REMUS TOMORROW BECAUSE I SURE FUCKING AM. It's been a whole week without him! It's painfullll.


	7. 014 SMILE

Chapter Seven. 1,500 words.

Theme 014. Smile.

"He's responsive," the St Mungo's healer explained in a sombre voice, "but not speaking."

"Can we see him?" Hermione.

"He's not exactly the best conversationalist at..."

"Can we see him or not?" Harry.

"One. One of you may go in. And only for a few minutes. Afterward, no more visitors for the day."

"It should be Teddy." Hermione.

"Teddy saw him already and can't deal with this right now. We shouldn't... We shouldn't force him." Harry.

"It'll be you, then, mate. You're the closest to him. You're his kid's godfather." Ron.

"I... Okay. Fine. I'm going in." Harry.

"Just one minute," the healer put a gently restraining hand on Harry's arm as he made to enter the room. Initially, Remus had been in a large communal ward with other patients, but Harry had insisted he be given a private room. "He's only come out of his catatonia a few hours ago, and since his conversation with his son, he isn't in the best of spirits. See that you don't upset him; it could mean the difference between weeks of recovery, and years."

Harry nodded and her grip eased. Harry slid into to room softly, not really accepting the situation in whole until he saw its occupant staring in the opposite direction at a horribly generic painting on the wall od a cottage scene, the branches of the flowering trees swaying slightly in a light breeze. Remus looked thinner, but otherwise identical to what he had on the day of his death, except that Remus had never looked so lost or helpless in the entire time Harry had known him. Harry was completely overwhelmed to realise that they were now close to the same age.

"Remus," Harry announced softly. He suddenly realised that much like his godson before him, he had no idea what else he _could _say. Hey, welcome back? Things have changed a lot? I think of your son as my own, and he feels the same way?

Remus Lupin's grey eyes, ringed with dark circles of exhaustion and shadowed with the day's compounded simultaneous reliefs and horrors, drifted vaguely in Harry's direction only to freeze, unwavering, on him. Harry gulped, and took a deep breath, only to lose his nerve completely when Remus said, wonderingly, "James?"

"No, no, Remus, not..." Harry came forward, suddenly feeling bashful. Of _course_ Remus would think... "No, Remus, it's-"

"Harry." Remus breathed at the same time Harry finished. Harry sighed and let his hunched shoulders relax.

"Yeah. It's me."

Remus gathered himself immediately. "Harry, my god," he looked torn between pride and horror, but he was now Harry's calm, collected mentor, and not the lost man transported twenty year into the future. "You look... I'm sorry. It's wonderful to see you."

"It's about a thousand times better to see you, alive and healthy." Relatively, anyway.

"At least you think so," Remus said, bitterly amused.

"Teddy will come around," Harry said gently, laying a hand on Remus's shoulder. And god, wasn't that, that small point of contact, a miracle. The situation washed over Harry anew: all the panic of past twenty-four hours subsided; it was all worth it, whatever Teddy said, because Remus was _alive, _and Harry was absolutely staggered with how incredible that was_. _Remus shrugged his had away, but laid a grateful hand on Harry's and gave it a squeeze before doing so. Harry supposed he felt uncomfortable with human touch for the moment, which he supposed was reasonable. He let his hand drop to his side. "Teddy's always been so proud of you. When he graduated, he gave a speech on how he hoped to grow to be a man worthy of the sacrifice that you and Tonks..." he bit his lip, and cursed his rambling. Remus gave him a very sad look.

"I hope you're right." He croaked, and Harry realised he was holding back tears.

"I am," Harry replied confidently, and honestly. "He's probably at Victoire's right now, getting yelled at in French for being a git. Er, Victoire Weasley, his fiancée... Sort of..." Harry sighed in frustration. He should not have been the one to tell Remus that his son was getting married, but like his earlier blunder, it had just slipped out.

Remus laughed, this time unable to keep the tears from escaping the corners of his eye. "Next you'll tell me I'm a _grandparent. _I probably look the part, anyway. _Merlin_, no offense, but if you're as old as you look, I must be _ancient_..."

"Well, almost, but not quite," Harry joked, and then realised Remus would not see the humour. "You're same age as when you... You're thirty-eight."

Remus didn't react to that, and Harry wondered for a panicked moment if he'd scared him back into catatonia. However, he finally just said, changing the subject. "Is Gimmauld Place occuppied?"

"Well no," Harry admitted, but seeing Remus's question before he asked it, "But there's absolutely no way you can live there," And then, when Remus looked taken aback and a little injured, followed by worse yet a grim acceptance, Harry clapped a hand over his mouth and wiped across it harshly. "Remus, you don't need to worry about finding a place to live; we'll figure something out, but you aren't going to be alone. If nothing else, my house is always open to you." Harry explained, and wished, not for the first time, for Ginny's charm and social grace; the way he had said it sounded forced, and he knew Remus was unlikely to accept it in the sincerity it was intended.

"You're very generous, Harry, but I couldn't impose," Remus began, and Harry glared at him before sitting at the chair beside the bed. At first, he didn't look at Remus, but as he began to speak, he focused a level gaze on the other man.

"Ever since my wife died, I've been living alone. I live very publicly, unavoidable, but I've become, at the same time, very withdrawn. Some have argued," Harry thought of Hermione and Ron, especially, "unhealthily so. My children no longer require me, my friends can rarely be in my company without feeling awkward, and even my personal assistant finds it difficult to engage me on a social level anymore."

Remus had gone very still, and Harry realised apparently no one had told him that Ginny was dead. Well, and why would they? She was an acquaintance. Her death, as difficult as it was to believe, did not impact every individual on the face of the planet. There was a good chance Remus didn't even know Harry was talking about Ginny, although it wouldn't be hard to surmise. Undaunted, Harry continued.

"What I'm saying is that if this thing with Teddy has set your standard for your reception, you need to _reset_. Teddy is confused, but once he adjusts he will be happier than anyone. We're all so glad to have you back, Remus, I-" Harry cut off here, mortified to realise he was tearing up. He cleared his throat and looked away, but Remus only stared at him. "More than anything, though, I don't want you to end up like me."

There was a long pause, as Remus considered this.

"Besides," Harry added belatedly, with a weak grin, "the kids will be home in a few months for Christmas, and if you're all shut up in Grimmauld Place, you'll likely get dragged out by your hair, anyway. Best not let it become a habit, while there's still time."

Remus's answering smile was equally small, but beaming. "You didn't tell me you were a father."

"Of four." Harry replied, and then instantly corrected himself. "I mean, three. I... Generally count Teddy as one of my own," he admitted, and though he expected it to hurt Remus, it only made him grin more broadly.

"So you see," Harry concluded, standing up and smoothing his hands over his muggle clothing. "We're really a family already. One that you're a part of, whether you like it or not. You can run, but I'm pretty sure you can't hide." _Not even if you play dead._

"I'm not hiding," Remus whispered, finally looking, if not happy, then peaceful. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry just nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some rest, yeah? You look lie you've..." Harry gestured vaguely to finish an analogy he didn't know how to otherwise complete.

"Been dead for twenty years?" Remus suggested dryly. Suddenly, Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Something like that."

**;**

A/N: Sorry about the lateness of the chapter. I pretty much had to do a complete overhaul of it from my original draft because of plot changes. Not sure I'm entirely happy with it even still, but I'm going to leave it alone for the rest of the evening. See you guys tomorrow!


	8. 001 INTRODUCTION

Chapter Seven. 600 words.

Theme One. Introduction.

When Harry was young, before he was a hero or an icon or even a student at Hogwarts, when he used to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, he would often times in the middle of the night hear sounds of tabloid talk shows emanating from the Dursley's living room.

Now, Petunia Dursley portended at being a more classy sort of woman than what watches trash television, and in fact openly scoffed at the lurid public displays the media made of everything imaginable by day. But by night, invariably, the stairs would creak, too lightly to be anyone _but_ Petunia, and the television light would soon after begin flickering, and a soft sound of a studio audience would make its way to Harry's cupboard.

Harry had quite forgotten about it by the time he was thirty-eight, but standing outside Remus Lupin's hospital room with their son, he was abruptly pulled back into that small space, listening to the prurient and the provocative, and quite wishing he could get back to sleep. It really just wasn't very _normal_, after all, to introduce an adult son to his father for the first time since infancy. But then, what was normal, to the life of Harry Potter?

"You sure you're ready? You aren't going to freak out again?" Harry verified, his hands resting squarely on his godson's shoulders. Teddy nodded.

"I'm twenty years old, Harry, and reportedly pretty stable, besides. You don't need to worry so much about me."

"I'm not worrying about you, you prat," Harry withdrew his hands and folded his arms sternly. "I'm worried about your father. He's undergone an unreasonable amount of stress, and one more _thing_ is now what we need to deal with right now."

"Yeah, all right," Teddy conceded. "But still. I'm fine."

"Well, okay. I'll be right out here, if you need me." Harry turned to walk towards the waiting room, but before he had gone more than a few steps, Teddy called his name.

"D'you... D'you think you could go in with me? Just..." He averted his eyes and hunched his shoulders a bit while sliding his hands into the pockets of his robes. To Harry, he looked one very small step away from scuffing a toe on the tile. Harry was forcibly reminded of him as a child, and had to smother his amusement. "Not the whole time. Just for a minute."

"Yeah," Harry said with a small smile. "Okay."

He came back up the hallway, and opened the door, and there was Remus.

"Harry," Remus greeted, looking better by far already than he had the day before. Harry moved into the room, and Remus's eyes moved to Teddy. "And..."

"Hi," Teddy said, somewhat forced; his shoulders were still drawn with tension, but his face, at least, was relaxed.

"Remus Lupin," Harry said, voice thick with irony, "allow me to present your son: Theodore the Brave." Teddy reached forward and gently shoved Harry's arm.

"Well, thanks for being an arse about it," Teddy smiled slightly.

"If you wanted a proper introduction, you should've sent a house elf," Harry shrugged. "That's my bit done, then. If anybody needs me to be the adult again, holler. Or better yet, don't." He left, and shut the door behind him before he could be drawn into any conversation. Whatever happened between Remus and Teddy now would have to be up to them.


	9. 016 QUESTIONING

Chapter Nine. 1,600 words.  
>Theme 016. Questioning.<p>

Harry came in to see Remus and Teddy sitting at the small table in Remus's room, laughing as Teddy continued, "-And then Icarus says to me, 'Lupin, you've got something on your _face_,-'" And Harry had to spin around and retreat immediately into the hall because the grin that was nearly splitting his face and the tears threatening to explode from his ducts were surely going to make him look completely mental to an extent that will break up the mood, and then-

"Harry?" Teddy had followed him into the hall. Great. 

"Sorry," Harry laughed, brushing a trail of wet from his cheek. "It's just good to see you two..." There was no real way to finish that sentence, so Harry just shrugged.

"This is probably the second time I've ever seen you cry," Teddy mused contemplatively.

"Destroying your father-figure worldview?" Harry grinned unselfconsciously.

"It's okay. I've got an extra." Teddy grinned back. He'd not meant it, obviously, but it was still a huge step up from 'I've already got a father' a week ago, and Harry felt incredibly relieved.

"I told you it would all work out." Harry shoved Teddy's arm slightly, and Teddy smiled.

"Yeah, you did. And it almost all did." Teddy's smile was only slightly forced.

"Your mind is still made up, then? You haven't even told him?"

"You know him, Harry. You know him even better than I do. If I tell him, what will he say?"

"He'll tell you to go," Harry answered. "But I didn't say you had to obey him. You're an adult, you aren't under anyone's rule anymore, save your own. But I do think you should at least tell him."

"So he can feel guilty for coming back to life?" Teddy grimaced. "Harry, I think maybe your parental bias is clouding your judgment.

"Probably." Harry answered. "That's what parental bias _does_." And he was obviously not just talking about himself.

"I'm not going to tell him, Harry." Teddy repeated firmly. "There'll be other expeditions." Harry frowned, but didn't reply, and Teddy shrugged. "Anyway, I've got to get going. Gran's expecting me for dinner."

"Is she doing any better? I'm sorry I haven't been to see her in a few weeks. She knows my offer to stay with me is still open, right?"

"She's... Okay. She's going, but I can't say well, because that's not true. And yeah, she knows, but she thinks you've done so much for her already that it's just not an option. I've tried reasoning with her," Teddy threw his hands up defensively before Harry could make an exasperated reply, "but she just won't hear it. You know her; too much Black to be reasoned with at all. I'll keep trying. I'll see you later, okay?"

They clasped an arm around each other briefly before Teddy stalked off in the direction of the lobby. Harry turned and went into Remus's room.

"Hey," Harry greeted, and then handed him the book he was carrying. "Hermione sent this over. I was going to pick something, but all of my books are at least thirty year old reference books, and she said there was no way you'd never read all of them, so..."

He was chattering nervously, and he couldn't pinpoint why. He hadn't felt nervous since he was in school, for Christ's sake. Defeating the world's most evil entity had a way of calming one's outlook on life.

"Thanks," Remus laughed, and the knowing, yet self-conscious twinkle in his eye made Harry grimace. "_Interviews with the Ghosts of Literature_ sounds perfect."

"Well, good," Harry answered, unable to come up with a better reply. "So... How're things?" And instantly regretted it. God, what was he, fifteen?

"Better," Remus answered, and if he found the question at all insensitive, he had the grace to not reveal any hint of offense. "Teddy and I are starting to connect. He's... He's very much like me, isn't he?"

"Very," Harry answered, heart clenching. "I've spent the last twenty years marveling just how much almost daily. And I hated myself for doing it, because..." Harry faltered a moment, second-guessing himself.

"Because of what people always said about you and your dad," Remus finished for him. "Sure."

"Right," Harry continued, relieved he hadn't unwittingly touched a nerve. "But it's just, it's not that I was seeing him in terms of you, it was really a _compliment_, because of how much I..." Harry broke off again, shaking his head. "He's definitely his own person, but that person is very similar to yours."

"I wish Dora could have met him," Remus lamented softly. "She would be very proud."

"He's a bit like her, too, sometimes. Not as overtly as like you, but, you know. He's got a bit of patented Tonks determination." And a lot less patented Lupin self-recrimination, Harry didn't say.

"Which is why, I assume, he refuses to tell me whatever it is he isn't telling me." Remus answered, and Harry pulled a face.

"What tipped you off?"

"He's just very steadfastly cheerful about everything. Everything is going well, everything is great. To the point that it's unrealistic."

"And you've tried bringing it up with him?"

Remus sighed and stared down at the tabletop. His attire was some pajamas that the hospital had given him; they were loose around his slender frame, and the neckline pitched forward so that Harry could clearly see his collarbone and lightly haired chest. "I've hinted at it, but he ignores the cues and keeps talking."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "He does that."

"I just don't know how to approach it without upsetting him. We're finally starting to establish a relationship, but I feel like as long as he can't tell me what's wrong..."

"It's nothing to do with you." Harry assured him. "At least, it's nothing you are responsible for." Remus balked at this, and Harry put a hand to the bridge of his nose. "That came out wrong."

"Harry," Remus said gently, his expression patiently questioning. "Just tell me what's going on."

Harry sighed. "I'm going to, because you deserve to know, and also because I am his parent too, and I want the best for him." Harry breathed deeply, and Remus remained silent. "Teddy's been studying ancient American artifacts for evidence of common wizardry. Or, at least, he's been helping the man he works for, Garth Kingston, study them. And a few months ago, Garth offered to take him along on an expedition to Incan ruins, which is a hugely rewarding opportunity considering how little time he's been with the team. I won't lie and say it was in no way easier for him because he was my godson, but regardless of how he obtained the position, he has worked and earned every single achievement."

Remus was quiet for a moment before he asked, "When was he supposed to leave?"

Harry smiled sadly. "Everyone else leaves tomorrow. Garth heard the situation and said Teddy could spend another two weeks here and then come join them, but any later and its just not worth the expenses of bringing him. Teddy says that there will be other expeditions, and he is, of course, right. But this was sort of a big deal because there's an international expert- Tony Strong Wind- who is going to be there next month, and if Teddy went down and Garth introduced them, he could run the chance of getting hired on as a permanent member of his staff. At the very least, it's a very good contact to establish."

There was another long silence, and Harry had just began to question whether maybe or not Teddy had been right about the situation, when Remus looked up from the tabletop and met Harry's eyes. "Thank you for telling me."

"Yeah, well," Harry laughed a little bitterly. "Teddy didn't think I should. But he's not a father."

"I don't like the idea of him leaving so soon, but I want him to go."

"I know. So do I. Dislike him leaving, and want him to go, I mean."

"You really do care for him like your son, don't you?"

Harry couldn't offer anything but the truth. "Absolutely."

Remus nodded, like this decided the matter. "Then he should go. I'll tell him tomorrow."

"He'll argue with you," Harry warned. "But one day, he'll appreciate what you're doing. Probably sooner rather than later, because as soon as he's in South America he's going to be learning more and getting more accomplished than he has since he graduated."

"And it won't be forever," Remus added, almost to himself.

"Of course not," Harry said wryly. "Else he runs the risk of Victoire Weasely murdering him."

Remus laughed, weakly, but it was genuine enough. "Have I told you how proud I am of _you_?"

Twenty years ago, the paternal nature with which he said it would have been moving, but they both simultaneously noted how awkwardly it settled in between them.

"Sorry," Remus apologised. "I guess I can't really treat you like a teenager anymore."

"You could think of me as a friend," Harry suggested. "Especially considering I am one. I appreciate the sentiment, all the same."

"Well. As friends, then, can I confess something to you?"

Harry sat up a bit straighter. "Yeah, of course."

"I've read _Interviewing the Ghosts of Literature._ Twice."

**;**

A/N: Thank you again to my reviewers! I really like how this chapter turned out, but I'd love to hear everyone else's input. And to those of you who have alerted and favourited and not reviewed, I swear if you take fifteen seconds to compose "hey bro like the story but needs more tits" you will not regret the loss of time. For real. Anyway, cheers. See you tomorrow!


	10. 030 UNDER THE RAIN

Chapter Ten. 1,100 Words.

Theme 030. Under the Rain.

A crisp autumn breeze batted wind into Harry's face, creating a waterfall on his glasses. He repressed a shiver and pulled his coat more tightly around him, and tried to tune back in to what Fleur Delacour was saying.

"Eet ees not zat I deesaprove of 'eez profession, 'Arry," she elaborated, flushed very pink in her own fur coat, and shuddering. "I just do not see much sense in zee _timing_. Surely zeese ruins will not deesappear over night?"

Harry tried not to scowl. "It's kind of an important trip, Fleur," he reasoned, wishing Bill would stop dominating conversation with Lupin and come back to filter his wife's overabundant opinion. "It'll impact his future a lot, being able to meet some of the people down there. And Remus is in good hands until then."

"I assume 'e stays with 'is _belle-mère_?"

"No, Andromeda is a bit sickly at the moment, so we've arranged for him to come home with me in two days, as soon as he's properly discharged. He's only on day leave, right now."

Fleur looked as though she were going to make another objection, likely to thee state of Remus's health being fragile enough without the weather (to which Harry privately agreed, but would not have dare voiced, under the circumstances), when Bill and Lupin rejoined their sides, both looking quite a bit more at ease in the cool than either Harry or Fleur.

"Lycanthropic blood," Remus muttered in his ear lowly, and only his years of auror's training prevented him from jumping in alarm. "Our body temperature is usually a few degrees above normal, anyway, so the cool is actually rather nice."

"Oh," Harry said, because he honestly couldn't think of anything else at the moment, except how warm the breath had been on his ear. God, what was he even...?

"Okay, five minutes," Teddy called from a few feet away where he stood with Victoire and another young man who was also leaving with him called Thomas-something-or-other. He wasn't the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but Harry could imagine what he was feeling: irritation, at being bossed into a better future like he was a kid again; guilt, for leaving Remus behind; and yet, no small amount of excitement. He was completely relaxed, though, as he turned towards the party of well-wishers.

Bill and Fleur stepped forward first.

"Be very careful," Fleur instructed, pressing on her toes o give her the height to kiss him on the cheek. "Eet would not do at all to trade one Lupin for anuzzer,"

"You know me," Teddy grinned. "Always keeping my head low."

Fleur scowled at him, but Bill grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "I worked with a Newman Hall on a job for the bank a fear years back," he said. "Good bloke. Heard he was down there. Drop my name, and he'll tell you a good story or three, and probably buy you a drink."

"Thanks," Teddy said. "Good to know. Tell Louis to keep working on finding those coins in the back yard."

Then Teddy turned to Harry, and hugged him tightly. "Thanks, Harry. For all of it. Everything."

"Right pain in my back, the whole way, too," Harry smiled. "See that you don't waste any of my superhuman efforts."

And then, after only a portion of a second's hesitation, Teddy lurched forward and grasped Remus, who did not hesitate at all to return the gesture.

"There'll be time after this," Teddy assured him. "Just six weeks, and then all the time in the world."

"Absolutely," Remus answered. "Make the most of your time. Learn everything."

"I'll do my best," Teddy said, much more seriously than he would if Harry or Fleur or Andromeda had bid him do the same. They broke apart after a moment more, and finally Teddy turned around and looked at Victoire. Her short blonde hair was flying wildly in the wind, and her cheeks were bright underneath the light dusting of freckles, and her eyes were watering from the cold, but she was still lovely. Teddy, who's hair had been fashioned a dark brown, reverted unconsciously to its natural mouse-brown colour.

"Don't marry any Incan girls while you're gone," Victoire sniffed, and Harry couldn't tell, but he suspected it wasn't entirely the cold that was making her tear up anymore.

"Of course not," Teddy said seriously. "Any children conceived will be strictly illegitimate."

Victoire considered this. "Don't bring back more than three. I don't think I would like a whole hoard of them."

"Five," Teddy challenged.

"Three and a boa constrictor," Victoire bargained. Teddy grinned.

"I'm going to miss you," he said, pitching his voice just a bit lower, until Harry could barely hear them.

"Buck up, Lupin, it's only six weeks," she scolded, and they both laughed, because she was crying in earnest, now. They pressed forward and kissed deeply for a moment, and Harry saw Fleur and Bill take eachother's hands out of the corner of his eye.

"Love you," He murmured against her hair before he parted, and walked back to where Thomas stood, looking frankly a bit disgusted with the entire display. "Ready?"

"Wait, oh, wait!" Victoire brought something out of her pocket that Harry couldn't see. "Dominique made this. Made me promise to give it to you." She held the object aloft by a cord, and Harry could just see a gold pendant glinting through the rain attached to it.

Teddy took it, and held it up to his face. "It's a sphinx," he observed.

"It reminded her of you, because it's all different animals in one, and you can kind of change your- well, you know, you. I told her it was a bit of a stretched metaphor, but..."

"Tell her thank you," Teddy grinned, dropping the pendant around his neck. "I love it."

"Lupin," Thomas warned, waving a half of a Styrofoam cup at him, and Teddy nodded.

"Okay, everyone," he waved. "See you later."

Everyone called back goodbye to him, and only a brief space of time later, he and Thomas were both gone.


	11. 076 BROKEN PIECES

Chapter Eleven. 1,100 Words.

Theme 076. Broken Pieces.

Remus Lupin stood in the expansive foyer within the Potter home, and marveled quietly at both its grandeur, and its taste.

"It's definitely too big for one person," Harry was saying, taking Remus's newly-purchased coat (another gift from Harry, of course) and approaching a coat rack, which promptly grew another arm and labeled itself with Remus's name on a small golden plaque right above. Harry hung his own coat on an arm higher up. There were six additional arms; four for each of Harry's children including Teddy, one for Maddox Brown, the personal assistant, and one that could only have belonged to Ginevra Potter.

"It was a gift from Molly," Harry smiled, gazing at Remus, and Remus only then noticed he'd been staring. "You should see her clock; it's got appendages for all the grandchildren now, as well as the Weasleys-by-marriage. Although she's long since removed Ron's and mine, because she was tired of seeing them go to 'Mortal Peril' every other day at work."

"Is it really that dangerous? Even still, after Voldemort?"

"Yeah, unfortunately." Harry shrugged, leading Remus up the stairs to show him the various rooms. "I'm not like a lot of the younger guys on the squad; I don't actively _look_ for danger, but that's fine because plenty of it finds me instead. I just try to deal with it as it comes, and eradicate it as best as I'm able."

"Which must be pretty well," Remus guessed. "Considering you're head of the Department."

"Yeah. I mean, obviously, I'm a celebrity, so they were eager to promote me so that they had a nice figurehead that people generally liked, and all that. But I'm a decent auror."

Remus thought that Harry was probably being very conservative with his own praise. He'd heard enough since he had woken up three weeks ago to know that Harry was considered rather powerfully gifted in Defense Against the Dark Arts, as well as more than moderately proficient in a host of other subjects.

"This is the library," Harry said, standing in the door frame of a modestly sized, but certainly well-stocked library, covered wall-to-wall with books. "Haven't read half of them," Harry confessed. "Dumbledore once told me, back at Hogwarts, how people insisted on giving him books. I seem to run into the same problem."

"Looks like someone has a fondness for Teen Witch Mysteries," Remus chuckled, finding a stack of worn paperbacks on a sofa by the room's only window.

"My daughter, Lily," Harry smiled. "And I've never caught him at it, but I have a suspicion Al picks them up when no one is looking."

"He's your youngest, right?"

"Yeah. The one who looks the most like me, too. He's a good kid. They all are," Harry smiled fondly. "I can't wait for you to meet them."

"Me either," Remus murmured, and the followed Harry back into the hall. They looked through studies and bedrooms, harry pointing out along the way what belonged to who, and Remus all the while grew conscious of just how much time had passed while he had been, for lack of a better word, dead.

"And this is where Teddy stays, when he visits," Harry showed Remus a guest room that was obviously a bit more lived-in than most of thee others had been, although still neat. There was a chest of drawers that, upon inspection, revealed a set of spare robes, as well as some flannel pajamas. There were also photographs along every surface" young Teddy and his godsiblings; Victoire and Teddy with their arms around each other's waists, standing in front of a large canyon; a large Weasely clan photo; a photographs of Teddy's graduation ceremony from Hogwarts; Teddy and Harry at what must have been Harry's office at work; teenage Teddy and a few other boys lounging laconically in the Gryffindor common room. Abruptly, Remus came across a picture of himself, Dora, and their infant son. Remus remembered acutely the photograph being taken; for him, it had been a mere four weeks ago. Harry remained carefully silent while Remus perused the room, only speaking up when he came across a photograph of Harry and Ginny, laughing silently as Ginny pushed Harry away for a moment before he stepped close to her again and pulled her tight against him.

"One of her last pictures," Harry said, and when Remus turned, he saw that Harry was not smiling. "She took a pretty steep decline after that. We didn't think... We didn't want anyone to remember her like that, in those last few months."

"What happened, Harry?" Remus asked softly. It was a question that had been on the tip of his tongue so many times before, but somehow, the timing had just never seemed right.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry growled. He looked at Remus, seemed to realise where he was, and relaxed. "It was at the final battle of Hogwarts. You know, there is more than one curse for killing. Voldemort used the instantaneous method; much more efficient. But Bellatrix was in a way even more evil; the Wasting Curse can take months to take effect, or even years; so everything seems like it's finally going to be okay, and then..." Harry broke off, and turned abruptly back into the hall. Remus hesitated, but followed him.

"Sorry," Harry said, leaning against the wall. "I don't talk about her very much, because every time I do... I get like this." Remus tried to make eye contact, but Harry stared steadfastly at his feet. "But you're living with me, so I thought you should know. It comes up every now and then, but overall, I try not to think about it too much."

"Probably not too healthy, Harry," Remus said, but it was very empathetic.

"Probably not," Harry agreed. "Anyway, your room is right across, and mine's next door to that. If you want to go ahead and get settled in, Maddox will be over soon, and we'll have dinner."

"Sure," Remus said, because he knew he was being dismissed so that Harry could gather of the broken pieces of glass that were his emotions.

An hour later, Harry, Remus, and Maddox stood in the kitchen, lifting glasses of wine.

"To old friends," Harry smiled, and as Remus intoned the toast lowly after, he understood that it wasn't just friends they were toasting.

A/N: No one ever asked me about Ginny, which kind of surprised me. Either you assumed I'd deliver, or you assumed that I just killed her off any old way. But Ginny's spirit bears a large significance in this story, and over Harry's character in general, so I'm definitely not trying to disregard her, or Tonks, for that matter. Anyway, this chapter was sort of ambiguous about it, but the POV has shifteed to Remus for the next ten chapters. It'll alternate every ten like that, except where story demands otherwise, I think. Which is good, because I need to develop Remus's narrative voice a little more fluently in my head. I have a very good feel for pretty much everyone else, I think. Okay, enough rambling. I really need a writing blog for all of this. And thank you so much to my reviewers, especially chronicxxinsanity, and _especially_ especially Lupinescence; they have submitted reviews for close to every chapter so far, and I really love hearing from them. Everyone else who has been reviewing is marvellous, too. I got some _awesome_ feedback these last few chapters; I _love love love_ when people suggest what I could improve upon in addition to what they like about the chapter. Thank you so much, guys. And for those who haven't reviewed yet, just know that Santa Claus will shove a piece of coal down your throat if you continue in your silence. Okay, maybe he won't. But maybe I will! But probably not. I guess it really just depends on how big a chance you feel like risking with that sort of thing.


	12. 099 SOLITUDE

Chapter Twelve. 600 words.

Theme 099. Solitude.

Remus came into the kitchen at six o'clock the next morning, but Harry was already gone. The kitchen was not, however, deserted.

"Good morning," Remus nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed at his flannel pajama pants and t-shirt, although his companion did not even seem to notice.

"Good morning," Maddox Brows greeted, promptly removing herself from the small, square kitchen table and getting a mug to pour some coffee for Remus in. "Sorry there's no tea. Harry doesn't keep any in the house, except when the kids are home."

"That's fine. Thank you," Remus answered the younger woman, accepting the mug and sipping. He grimaced.

"Should have warned you, I suppose," Maddox smiled apologetically. "Auror's brew. About ninety times stronger than would be necessary to burn your taste buds off."

"I suppose he needs it, as busy as he is."

"That, and he hardly eats most of the day. Since Mrs Potter passed, he hasn't taken very good care of himself." Maddox confided. "I do what I can, but he keeps himself locked up so much..."

Remus nodded, but privately, was beginning to wonder if Harry was not quite as well-adjusted as he had been led to believe. Not that Remus would have blamed him, considering everything the man had been through, but it worried him to think that he was just another thing Harry would have to adjust to in his already chaotic life.

"Harry wanted me to tell you to make yourself at home, considering, I quote 'that's where you are'. He won't be back until pretty late this evening, probably, but he wanted you to let you know that Hermione Granger would be over later to ask you a few questions concerning your... situation."

Remus frowned. "How so?"

"Well, I don't know the specifics, but I can guess that as happy as everyone is to have you back, no one exactly knows what caused it. The hospital has so far honoured their agreements to not talk to the press, which is good, because Harry gave them an absolute order not to violate confidentiality, or he would launch a full-scale investigation that would be sure to turn up every single minor infraction of the law for the last decade, and see that the hospital made amends for anything he uncovered. He's quite scary, when he wants to be."

So this was what twenty years had done to Harry. His reluctant assumption of the hero title had given way to a sense of real authority, which Remus guessed was probably more an adaption of necessity than any particular leadership qualities. Still, it was interesting, and in a way Remus envied his self-confidence, as well as his ability to stand up for Remus's sake without being questioned.

"So it's just you and I, then?" Remus asked as he tentatively sipped his coffee again, and anxiously wondered if it would be asking too much of Harry to acquire some Earl Grey.

"Ah, I wish," Maddox laughed good-naturedly. "I've got several floo calls to make, letters to write on Mr Potter's behalf, that sort of thing. I'll be leaving shortly."

"Oh," Remus said, dismayed despite himself. It wasn't as though he and Maddoz were bosom friends, or anything, but he hadn't anticipated being alone quite so soon.

"Or, I could probably stay and get work done around here," Maddox suggested, and Remus was embarrassed by how transparent he had been.

"No, that's alright, Ms Brown," he said nonchalantly. "I'll probably just spend most of the day reading, anyway."

"Are you sure?" Maddox looked uncertain, but Remus waved her off.

And then, he was alone.


	13. 042 STANDING STILL

Chapter Thirteen. 900 words.

Theme 042. Standing Still.

Hermione walked in semicircular arcs around Remus, back in forth, increasing the radius of her travels a bit each time, murmuring incantations all the while. Remus stood still and kept his arms extended at shoulder height beside him, and tried not to wince at his reflection in the empty wine cabinet opposite him, and all its smaller, distorted brothers on the dusty glasses that hung by their feet from one of the shelves. Even without the funhouse mirror effect of the curved glass, he was still too skinny; not that he'd ever been stocky, but since his return, regaining his depleted muscle mass had been a slow, exhausting, and painful process. At least he wasn't nigh skeletal as he had been, he thought, remembering the alarm he felt when he woke and saw his withered arms lying beside him in the hospital bed, but he still wasn't much to look at.

And look at him Hermione did. Not in a way that should have made him uncomfortable; if her eyes were a focused a little past the point of politeness, well, it was all justified, considering ahe was the best hope of figuring out what caused him to rise from the grave.

Abruptly she halted in her sweeping arcs, frowning, and shook her head. Her hair, bushy as ever, followed the motion, and she pushed it behind an ear absently. Remus did not interrupt her thoughts, but did not like seeing the witch look as though he were a crossword clue in the Daily Prophet that she just couldn't come up with the answer to.

She must has sensed his unease, though, because when she looked up and met his eyes, she smiled, although it looked a bit bland around the edges.

"All right, you can relax, thank you," she said, lowering her wand simultaneously. Remus dropped them and brought one across his chest, massaging behind his shoulder with the other.

"Any theories?" Remus asked lightly, unable to contain his curiosity. His wariness he covered somewhat better.

"A few," Hermione said vaguely, not meeting his eyes, and Remus felt the weight of the undisclosed lie settle on his shoulders, making them slump a little.

"I admit I didn't recognise more than half of that spell work," Remus commented ruefully. "I probably need to brush up on my Charms."

"Some of it was my own invention," Hermione replied almost absently, focused on a point of the wall a bit above Remus's shoulder before blinking and returning her gaze to him. "I studied a bit of medical magic my last year of Hogwarts."

"That was the year you went back after...?"

"After Voldemort's defeat, yes," Hermione smiled. "Ron thought I was absolutely mad, going back, considering the Ministry was tripping over itself to sign me, him, and Harry up after the war. And he was right, sort of, though I'd never tell him. I just didn't care about the same things when I went back, and it wasn't nearly as fun without Harry or Ron there, although Ginny made it bearable..." Hermione shrugged, smiling. "I did get a lot of free reign that year, though, and was allowed to self-study in most anything I could come up with."

"Including Medicine." Remus prompted, because he was realising how nice it was to listen to someone talk about herself, rather than focusing the conversation around him. That Hermione was probably intentionally steering the conversation away from his situation did not escape him, and he was internally grateful.

"Medicine, wand-making, alchemy, aura reading, energy manipulation. Although I was rubbish at most of it. Went back to the Ministry in the end, although I'd had more than enough fighting."

Remus observed her while she spoke, and noted with a degree of sadness that she had aged a bit better than Harry. Her face wasn't as lined, nor were the circles under her eyes as pronounced; even her hair had retained its colour better than Harry. Not to say Harry was unattractive, but looking back over the past weeks, Remus identified the exhaustion rolling off him in waves that he hadn't placed before.

"Anyway," Hermione said, unbunching the sleeves of her robes where she had pushed them to her elbows, "I have to go, I think. I'll keep researching; see what I can't come up with."

"Do you think it has anything to do with Dolohov?" Remus asked, more because it was the question everyone had danced around and he was tired of not speaking about than because he needed an answer.

"Almost certainly," Hermione said gravely, not flinching, but not looking relieved, either. "But how, I'm not sure."

"Right." Remus nodded.

"Well, I'll just, see you later, then." Hermione said a bit awkwardly, pitching a bit of floo powder from the urn on the mantlepiece on the opposite side of the sitting room and pitching it into the steadily crackling fire that had born witness to the afternoon's events.

"Take care," Remus nodded, and for lack of anything better to do, went back to the library.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry, I had finals. I'm back now, although I can't promise the same regularity as before. Keep reviewing, though; it might motivate me!


	14. 022 MOTHER NATURE

Chapter Fourteen. 700 Words,

Theme 022. Mother Nature.

The visit was as inevitable as it was unnecessary. Remus could have gone quite a many happy year, thanks, without calling on his dead wife's graves to pay his respects. But Harry had been mentioning it in that offhand way for two weeks now, saying _as soon as I have a bit of time off, Remus; sorry to put it off so long_ and looking confused every time Remus assured him, _no hurry_.

Now, looking at the tombstone, he felt no better about seeing it than he had about learning about its existence. What was this supposed to accomplish? What closure could he possibly obtain from a piece of rock place perpendicular to the grassy earth?

He looked over across the empty, misty cemetery, and saw Harry smiling fondly over the top of his own wife's headstone into the distance. Remus saw his mouth moving, but couldn't hear what Harry was saying. He looked down at Tonks's stone. Was that what he was supposed to do? What did he say?

"I saw Teddy," he began lamely, and found that the words didn't help. They didn't release the ache of pent up emotion in him. There was a mental disconnect in his mind; he could not get over the hurdle of connecting this plot of damp ground to his vibrant, exuberant, passionate wife. Really, it just felt like he was talking to a rock.

Even if the rock did have her name on it.

He looked at the engraving for a very long time: _Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, 04 May 1973 - 02 May. B__onis quod bene fit haud perit._

"I thought it was a bit stuffy for Tonks's taste, but Andromeda insisted," Harry said at Remus's shoulder. He did not move when Harry placed a cautious hand on his opposite shoulder. "I guess coming here with you was a mistake. Sorry. I usually feel sick out of my mind with guilt if I don't make time at least weekly to visit Ginny's grave. I guess I didn't really pause to consider it would be different for you."

"It's all right, Harry," Remus said, although it wasn't. Nature would have long taken its toll on the corpse. Tonks would be nothing but a skeleton anymore. How could that ever be all right?

"It never gets better, but it won't be so overwhelming after a while." Harry said, almost automatically, looking at Remus. Well, of course he would, Remus thought. How many grieving widowers had he comforted over the years? Not that he blamed Harry for detaching himself, Remus just would have expected a bit more emotion concerning the woman who birthed his godson.

"Do you want me to stay, or?"

"No," Remus croaked, only distantly alarmed by the sound of it; how his voice seemed to be tearing itself apart, since the rest of him resisted the temptation. He cleared his throat and looked at Harry. "No, you go ahead, I'll follow in a minute."

"Okay. You sure you can handle Apparation?"

"I'm sure," Remus said, eyes already wandering back to Tonks's headstone. When he next looked away, the sky was was darkening, and there was a blanket around his shoulders. Harry sat with his arms hugging his knees a few feet away, sipping coffee.

"How long have I been out here?"

"Close to five hours. I came back forty-five minutes after I left you here."

That sobered Remus from his trance instantaneously. "Sorry. I guess I-"

Harry held up a hand and shook his head, and then stood up. "No. Trust me. You don't have to explain. But if you need anything." He shrugged, and then moved closer, taking Remus's arm in his own and Disapparating them back to Harry's foyer. He directed Remus to a couch in the sitting room, said, "sit here, I'll make soup," and left Remus to his own devices.

Which consisted of staring at the floor, wondering how many wives were trapped six feet under it.


	15. 063 DO NOT DISTURB

Chapter Fifteen. 1400 Words.

Theme 063. Do Not Disturb.

He waits for sharpening teeth and elongated muscles, the first signs of his transformation already well past.

"_I'm not very well-versed in this particular brew," the note attached to the bottle had read, "but I certainly hope you'll find it adequate. Always glad to help a friend! -H.S."_

_And Remus had chosen not to dwell on the implications of 'friend'; he'd never been one of Slughorn's chosen, and the idea that he was now because of the worst tragedy that had ever befallen him. Instead, he had uncorked the vial and downed it in a shot, not even wincing at the familiar bitter taste. Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, as if to say "Thirsty, much?" and if he'd been ten years younger, he probably would have. Instead, he left Remus's room silently, leaving Remus to fall back against the headboard, attention returning to his book._

It was likely to be a gruesome night. His body was not yet fully healed, and while Slughorn had sent an entire cauldron of wolfsbane to enable to speed his recovery and dull the aches associated with his lycanthropy, there was no denying that he was going to be weak and likely feverish for the next week after. It would be like being a gawky teenager again, Remus mused, when the transformations would attack his growing body and contort it past its exhaustion point, and then press it to run wild through the night. Only this time, he'd go through it alone.

"_You're sure you don't want me to stay with you?" Harry had asked, leaning against the marble kitchen counter top, and looking intently at Remus, who busied himself averting his eyes and looking instead at his full breakfast of eggs, porridge, sausages, fruit, and toast. He didn't normally eat this much,but with his first transformation coming, his appetite had accordingly increased. It still wouldn't be enough to combat the malnourishment of his body, so long trapped in a coffin, withering._

"_No, it's too dangerous. Horace's wolfsbane will help; I'll have at least a partial, if very vague sense of residual humanity throughout the night, but even then there's no guarantee that I wouldn't attack you."_

"_I could at least stay in the lower levels of the house; make sure the wards keep up, keep you company until you, er. You know."_

"_Thank you for the offer," Remus answered, still looking at his coffee instead of Harry. "But I think I would prefer to wait it out alone."_

"_If that's your preference," Harry had relented with a shrug, his expression impassive, and his voice calm, collected._

And so here he sat, three hours into the change, with at least nine more to go. Soon, very soon, he would begin snapping bones and breaking skin to become the wolf. Until then. It was all nausea, tedium, and isolation.

All he had were his thoughts, and instead of being a welcome distraction, they were just overwhelmingly present and unavoidable.

He watched the sky darken outside the cracks in the walls of the attic of Grimmauld Place, and thought of Teddy, and his first letter home; how excited he'd sounded, and simultaneously guilty. Teddy had not met Tony Strong Wind, the international expert yet, but he had seen him briefly on site, speaking in a group that had consisted of a few men along with Garth Kingston, Teddy's mentor. Later that evening, Garth had apparently told Teddy that Strong Wind was going to be visiting a nearby Amazon village for a few weeks, and then he'd be returning for at least eight months. Word had it that there was an opening on his team for an assistant, but there were no less than thirty people in the camp, and at least ten others who would be directly competing with Teddy even if the position were made open to public application. If Teddy stood any chance of getting hired to the team, he would need to make a good impression, quickly. And then, if accepted, he would be gone for who knew how much longer.

And all the while, Harry. Harry, who had grown to be so kind, so level-headed, with much less anger than his teenage self, with no less conviction and self-determination. He kept friends in high places but did not seem to care very much about his public image. He did not crave power, but commanded it all the same. He was a young man, even still, on whom the wizarding world had vested their hopes for the future, and he had accepted, if not eagerly, than readily. Harry was a rock in Remus's life; one to which he was tethered. It was a blessing and a curse. Remus would have liked to let his depression swallow him whole, and slip back out of the public consciousness once and for all. But Harry had always looked up to him, and even now that Harry was nearly forty, Remus couldn't just collapse in front of him. He couldn't let Harry down, even if he wanted more than to just shrink into himself and then away, away. Harry, who was twice the man Remus was, and Remus would always have to try to be worth of his friendship, anyway.

And then all the visitors, the well-wishers, the votes of confidence. The story had finally broken to the press, as had been inevitable all along. Twenty years ago he had been a pariah; today he was a hero. No one seemed to mind he was a vicious animal a thirtieth of his life anymore; nor that he was obviously not as happy to be back as they were to welcome him. Remus Lupin, who had died for his country, died for good over evil, who had been one of Dumbledore's closest supporters, was back from the grave, and would be the unwilling recipient of every thanks, every meal, every extended forgiveness or reconciliation that every son had died in Voldemort's clutches before his mother or wife or brother or friend could offer. Remus represented the victims of war, and while no one ever said to him directly, "I am giving you this basket of fruit because my niece left home to go to her friend's one night and never came back," he could always see it in their eyes, whether grateful, _he sacrificed so much, and we owe it to him to thank him_, or accusing, _why him and not mine_, and had no way of expressing that he was not comfortable with being a hero. So he got caught by a spell out of Dolohov's wand that had sent him to a box underground. So had countless others. His place had never been as a poster child of rebellion; he'd always left that to Sirius and Dumbledore and even, in a way, Harry. His place was out of the public eye, in the background, another face in the photo to lend credit to the idea that there were strength in numbers, and an unremarkable face that no one had reason to remember if he was needed for an undercover operation. Not a hero at all.

A sudden slice of moon into the room finally halted everything. The colour shifted into monochrome in his vision, and suddenly, he could smell everything within a two mile radius, and there, unmistakably, the last identifiable concept before pain took over, blighting everything else away and leaving then restless animal in control: a scent recognisable and far, far too close at hand.

Harry.

Author's Note.  
>Yeah. Too much exposition in here, but I had a lot of information I needed to disperse, and this was seriously the only chapter to communicate it in. If I ever do a final edit of this story, there will be major overhauling of this chapter, but for now, this is what you get. Walls of text. I fully expect at least one review commenting "tl;dr".<p>

Anyway have a longish chapter to compensate for all the short ones.

Review and tell me how you would have done it better!


	16. 058 KICK IN THE HEAD

Chapter Sixteen. 700 words.

Theme 058. Kick in the Head.

Remus was next aware of light, far too much, and when he tried to shut his eyes against it, he found they were already closed. He felt like his chest had been torn apart and then roughly forced back into shape (which, of course, it had), and his head had taken a few solid kicks from a proficient martial artist.

"Shh," A voice, soothing, came from somewhere to the right of his head, and the bed (?) he was lying on dipped with someone's weight, and a hand pushed back the hair from his forehead and then placed a compress on it. "You're safe; I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

Harry.

Remus's eyes shot open, and he croaked for Harry again, reaching out to grab his wrist, and Harry exasperatedly pressed Remus's arms back to the bed.

"I told you I'm fine," he chided. "You need to rest. You have a temperature of one-hundred and four. I asked Hermione; that's high regardless of werewolf blood."

"You were there," Remus pressed, ignoring Harry completely.

"Hm?" Harry replied absently, but Remus, even in his feverish state, did not miss the evasiveness in his expression.

"Harry." Remus ground out, grabbing Harry's elbow this time, and not letting go until Harry met his eyes.

"Of course I was there," Harry finally said, sounding defensive. "It was your first transformation since you've been back. I wasn't going to let you go through that alone."

"I could have _killed_ you." Remus grit his teeth. God, he was dizzy.

"What, you think I would have let you? I'm not thirteen anymore, Remus. I've handled more than a few werewolves over the years. I know how to defend myself against them, and I know how to use nonlethal force."

"That's not your department." Half-delirious, Remus didn't know what kind of objection that was. Barely knew what he was saying. Despite his anger and worry, he was drifting back into an uneasy sleep.

"_Everything_ is Harry Potter's department, at one point or other," Harry said wryly. "Auror, statesman, researcher, teacher, witness, juror. They don't much like me on the Wizengamot, though, because I rarely show up for trial. Just tell Hermione to cast votes for the both of us, usually."

"Hnn," Remus said somewhat doubtfully, probably meaning something along the lines of _That sounds unlikely to actually be a valid procedure under the law, which you should know, being an officer thereof_.

"You're right, it's not well-received at all. But the alternative is to throw me off, and they feel like they owe me too much to do that. Personally, I wish they would; I hardly need one more duty to be carrying on with. Can't quit, though; Maddox informs me it would severely harm my public image. Speaking of."

Harry took the compress back, and though Remus's eyes were now closed (when had that happened?) he heard the sound of it being dipped into water and then wrung out again. When it was replaced, it was mercifully cool.

"We've got an invitation to Kingsley's this weekend. Hopefully you'll be well enough to come. He hasn't seen me in a while, but usually we try to meet every month. He doesn't seem to like it as Minister for Magic much; seems to wish he was back in the Auror's office most of the time. Can't say I blame him, but of course I'd rather have someone who hates the job than someone who is power thirsty or incompetent. Oh, are you asleep?"

"No," Remus breathed, but even to his own ears it sounded like a lie.

"All right, good to know." He could hear the smile in Harry's voice.

He was back asleep before he could identify why that comforted him so much.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes.<p>

Here have another chapter or something. Thanks for all the reviews, dudes. You're all swell human beans.


	17. 044 TWO ROADS

Chapter 017. 1,200 words.

Theme Forty-Four. Two Roads.

It took Remus two days to break his fever, and another three before he could leave his bed for more than a few hours at a time. Remus hadn't been so weak since he was a _child_, had probably never felt so redundant and helpless in his life. By the time he was mobile again, his thoughts were stormier than ever, and his outlook on the visit to Kingsley Shacklebolt's was not positive.

Kingsley Shacklebolt. Remus had thought Harry had aged, but Remus was realisng now that Harry had really just matured, comparatively. Kingsley, who had been a few years behind Remus at Hogwarts, was now in his mid fifties, but looked closer to seventy. His voice was the same deeply pitched, even, almost quiet intonation that commanded control of a room for it's mere aristocratic presumptuousness, as though he did not need to speak any louder because he was quite sure of himself always being heard. His face, however, was adorned in a white beard, and round-framed gold glasses gave the impression of keen, unavoidable understanding.

Remus was somewhat discomfited by that. He was not entirely certain he was meant to be understood.

"Well, well," he had said to Remus when he and Harry had been shown into his sitting parlour, which was Indian-influenced in design and boasted warmth above status. Remus somehow doubted Cornelius Fudge would have approved. "Romulus returns."

"I have," Remus agreed with a small smile, which is not forced. It is good to see someone so deserving in a status so deserved.

"Excellent," the Minister for Magic said. "I am glad to see you, old friend; I may even eventually forgive you for not being as old and wrinkled as the rest of us,"

Remus doid not answer that of course he would rather be, if it meant that this had never happened and Tonks were still alive, because Kingsley already knew. It was impossible to be tactful about people coming back to life, Remus had realised; every shade of humour was dark and none can be begrudged because, well, he was _lucky_, after all, even if he felt like the most unlucky man alive.

"You are good to me," Remus did say, "but I daresay you look more lively than I at this point."

"You may be right; you are nothing beyond flesh and bones. No matter, we will change that. One of my few indulgences as Minister; I have an excellent kitchen staff," Kingsley winks, and then clasps hands with Harry and rests his other on Harry's shoulder. "Looking overworked as usual, Potter."

"I'm still perpendicular to the ground, aren't I?" Harry answers with an easy grin that Remus can tell is a practised lie. "So clearly not."

"And thank Merlin for that," Kingsley answered, clapping his hand once more on Harry's shoulder before disengaging. "We'd be lost without you."

"I'm sure you'd manage, with the _second-best assistant in the world_ attending to you," Harry answered with a slightly raised voice, and only then did Remus turn around to notice a pretty Asian woman Remus distantly recognised as his former student Cho Chang leaning in the doorway, arms folded across her chest as she smiled laconically at the group.

"Second best nothing, Mister Potter," she answered, with a slightly teasing tone to the honourific. "Jealousy suits you none at all."

"Jealousy?" Harry looked affronted. "Give me more credit than that. It's reverse psychology, plain and simple."

"Oh, right," Cho said with rolled eyes. "The end goal being me working for you? The flaw in that logic is that I sincerely think you'd kick a puppy in the head before you fired Maddox Brown."

"If I kicked a puppy in the head I'd lose her anyway; it'd be terrible for my public image," Harry countered. "And anyway, I'm sure I could find _some_ work for two of you."

And there was no mistaking the peaceful, non-serious flirtation in his tone. Remus turned from the conversation and looked back to Kingsely, who despite having been dismissed from attention by the majority of the room, did not look any less inherently regal than he had when Remus had seen him on the front page of the morning's Prophet.

"They're always like that," he said in undertone to Remus while Harry and Cho left to another room of the house that Remus had not yet seen. "She's married to a muggle called Greg, but they talk like an old married couple themselves. Greg's fine with it; he adores Harry, although he's only met him a handful of times, that I know of."

"You never married?"

"I never had time," Kingsley answered, and Remus supposed that must be true. He was the most popular Minister in centuries, obviously not without his opponents but certainly with a more passionate support than the complacent followers of Ministers past, in large part due to his commitment and dedication to equality amongst all wizarding people, regardless of blood status. There could not have been an overabundance of time for personal matters. But Remus hadn't missed the way Kingsley's face had brightened when Cho's voice had announced itself a moment before, and if he wasn't much mistaken, he understood exactly why it had.

"Do you ever regret it?" Remus asked without thinking, looking through the doorway as though he could see the trails of laughter that drifted in from down the hall where Cho and Harry were.

Kingsley did not answer right away. Eventually, he turned to Remus and asked: "Do you?"

And he wanted to say yes, that he would take back his life, his marriage, his youth, his honour, _anything_ to have Tonks come back, to have kept her safe.

Except there was one thing he wouldn't, and Remus saw the alternate timeline aligned with what had actually occurred like two parallel roads: one in which his son grew up in a small, quiet home with both parents and less opportunity, and the one in which he became the person Remus wouldn't trade for the world, or any other djinn's offer therein. "No," Remus answered, as though a revelation to himself, which was entirely possibly Kingsley's intention all along. "I really don't think I do."

Kingsley nodded. They left to find Harry and Cho a moment later.

* * *

><p>I accidentally a month between chapters. I are a bad write.<p>

Yeah, I went to a full time position at work. Which is actually the exact same position, just three more hours a day. Go me!

Angsty Remus arc was supposed to go on a few chapters longer, but I was really tired of it, and it just seemed so out of character. In future drafts, I'll need to alter his internal voice a bit.

Also, personal non-canon-to-fic headcanon: Cho Chang is married to Greg Lestrade from Sherlock.

You guys gave so many great reviews last chapter! Thank you so much, each and every one of you!


	18. 073 I CAN'T

Chapter 018. 1,700 words.  
>Theme Seventy-Three. I Can't.<p>

And then commences the process of moving on.

Remus had a bit too much to drink at Molly Weasley's last night; Harry had eyed him with slight disapproval, but said nothing. Remus hadn't embarrassed himself in any lingering way, but he had noticed Harry's eye colour and laugh and overall decent looks with a bit more focus than normal. Remus had always appreciated Harry as reasonably attractive in an objective way; _James would be glad to know his son's got his strong jaw and all the right limbs and was not gawky or portly but pretty much average build and maybe not striking or abnormally good-looking but handsome in a quiet way, with arresting eyes and a lightning scar; James would be glad,_ but Remus is starting to realise that he is thirty-eight and Harry is too and, well, people are starting to make _assumptions_.

Not in a loud way, or in a way that's become any recurring joke, or even in a way that most people admit to yet. Mostly, it's just confined to people they both know reasonably well; how Maddox's eyes will linger at their exchanged smiles a second too long, Hermione stepping back ever-so-slightly when she sees Harry and Remus pressed together at the shoulders, shivering in an autumn wind on her doorstep, Cho Chang making a remark about "the Potter-Lupin household" with a slightly pointed smirk.

It's starting to add up, and Remus may have never noticed it if it hadn't been pointed out, but he's noticing now, for better, or, more likely, for worse.

He's not quite ready to move on that quickly.

So, the morning he wakes up with something of a hangover and remembers all the less-than-idle thoughts he had of his best friend's son, he does what Remus does best: he prioritises. Triages reasoning out his emotions for obtaining stability. The muggle psychologist... What was his name? The one who suggested the pyramid of self-actualisation. Bottom tier: basic physiological needs. Food, water, sleep. Next up: security. Shelter. Possession. Employment.

Which begs the question: who hires an ex-DADA professor slash war veteran?

Obvious answer. The auror's office.

Harry's response is less than enthusiastic.

"No way in _hell_," he cites specifically. "Sorry, Remus. I can't. Not happening."

"Why not?" Remus feels certain he's starting to wear that pinched look that Sirius always called his bitchface. "I'm perfectly capable, Harry."

"Yeah, I don't doubt you are one hell of a lot more capable than the majority of that office, Remus," Harry says seriously, draining his coffee and leaving the table to get more. He brings the pot back with him to the table to top Remus's cup off, as well. They've been doing this for over a month now, breakfast in the mornings, some nights a late dinner, others Harry just drags himself into the den at nearly midnight to say goodnight to Remus before they both go to bed. It's domestic, and Remus appreciates it, but he's also grown strong enough to be redundant and anxious and bored: a set of attributes never a good combination in even the most responsible of the Marauders. "But you'd also be a huge distraction for me."

The only thing saving Remus from scowling is the fact that he is Remus Lupin. Instead, his bitchface involuntarily purses a bit more as he says "Your best friend is on your team. How is this any different?"

"The same way it wouldn't have made sense to make Ginny a member of the auror's office, even though it would have been a logical, well-earned placement." Harry grouses, clearly not used to being argued with. He seems to review what he said in his head, and rushes to correct himself. "Well, not the _same_ way, obviously, but. I mean. Listen. Ron Weasley and I literally grew up fighting alongside each other. By the time we were inducted into the auror's office, I was so used to seeing him battle that I was almost entirely immune to any concern. Same for Hermione, although if she got tangled up in something today I can only guess if I'd be able to tune it out, and hopefully I'll never have cause to find out definitively either way.

"But there's a reason I don't have any other Weasleys on my team. They're all qualified, and I could always use the help, but there is a longstanding policy that, as a general rule, we do not employ family members. Spouses, nephews, brothers, close cousins. Exceptions can be made, but only if the applicants can prove that they can withstand a series of trial scenarios, each presenting their family member in a dangerous situation, and follow orders without getting distracted. And I don't mind telling you, Remus, that I have spent enough time on this job to know my exact limitations, and were you to be hurt..." Harry locks eyes in a steadfast way that Remus wouldn't have been able to. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to-"

"What lovely breakfast conversation you engage in, Mr Potter," Maddox Brown interrupts, strolling into the kitchen without compunction. "Are you now going to tell dear Mr Lupin about every child you've seen hurt in the last twelve years, followed by the possible impending collapse of the Muggle economy, and how that will reverberate throughout our own, and then perhaps a polite discourse on the growing antagonism between Dwarves and goblins, and the many atrocities committed in its name?"

"I think the next line of discussion was going to be on my search for a new personal assistant, actually," Harry returned, rolling his eyes at Remus, thus ending the conversation.

Remus thought about it later, though, and decided that the quickening of his pulse when Harry had been saying _nothing I wouldn't do_ was a very prime indicator of how badly Remus needed to remove himself, at least some part of himself, from this house; how there needed to be routine, order, and _something_ in his life that wasn't Harry Potter, before this... _whatever_ it was actually turned into something.

So he turned in the only other direction he could think of.

"Well, of course they'd love to have you, Remus," Hermione answered as a bit of green flame tickled Remus's cheek. "But don't you think you may be a bit, er, overqualified?"

"Not especially," Remus said with an easy, self-deprecating grin. "And Harry won't have me over in the Auror's office," Hermione made an understanding, sympathetic expression here, and Remus feels she is making erroneous parallels of her concern for Ron's well-being. He swallows down his discomfort, and continues, "but I thought, being a Magical Creature myself-"

"Oh, Remus," Hermione sighs, reaching uselessly towards the fire that Remus's head was ensconced by. "No one thinks of you as anything but a human, and no one would. You _know_ that."

"Well, logically. I guess it's hard for me to imagine that bias towards non-pureblood wizards being eradicated."

"Well, it hasn't been, not completely. But it's much better than it used to be, honestly, it's nothing like it was back twenty years ago, not even for werewolves. You're safe now, Remus. No one will persecute you. Not anyone who has any hope of avoiding a major PR scandal, anyway."

"Maslow," Remus remembers, suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"He's the Muggle psychiatrist who compiled the hierarchy of... never mind. I'm just saying, Hermione, I have a strong background in defense against magical creatures. Surely there's use for me."

Hermione gives him a blank look for several long moments, as though she hasn't got an idea what kind of emotion to put there. Eventually she settles on a tired smile. "I daresay there is, if you're certain you won't come to Magical Law Enforcement."

"No, I'm rather set, I think. I'm not much for the Wizengamot, or arguing. Thank you, though."

"Well, if you're sure, I have several connections back in RCMC, and they're always looking for mediators to the local werewolf packs. There aren't many volunteers for the position, you'll understand. It'd be rough work for you, but I can almost guarantee you a position."

"Thank you, Hermione. I'd greatly appreciate it."

Hermione waved him off. "I'll owl Amanda Hopkirk within the hour. If you want to thank me for something, then let it be for dealing with harry afterward; he'll be apoplectic when he finds out I've recommended you for such a dangerous job. He's very protective over you, you know."

There was that tone again. That insinuation that was barely even a suggestion, more just the idea of one. Remus bit back a sigh.

"It's not for him to worry about," Remus answered with a smile. "I'm sure he'll be perfectly fine with it. Thank you again, Hermione."

They exchanged smiles, and Remus pulled his torso from the fire, which went back to its merry orange self a moment later. He sat cross-legged on the floor a few moments more, staring at the carpet, and then picked himself up and moved to the leather sofa and picked up the book he'd been reading, waiting for Harry to come home.

* * *

><p>I enjoyed writing this chapter; I hope that comes across in the text. Reviews, as always, are requested. What did I do well, and what can I improve on? I'm still struggling with Remus's voice, and feel like it's woefully inconsistent right now, but ymmv? Hope March went splendidly for all of you; I was ridiculously busy, and barely noticed it passing. I'll try to update again soon, but last chapter deviated from my outline enough that I'm doing a bit of overhaul on this story's plot. Anyone interested in betaing? Leave a review or PM!<p> 


	19. 097 SAFETY FIRST

Chapter 019. 1,600 words.  
>Theme Ninety-Seven. Safety First.<br>The author wishes to acknowledge the invaluable efforts of her volunteer Beta reader, BayGirl927.

He's not _nervous_, exactly; not excited or dreadful, either. Most accurately _anxious_; there's a lot riding on this, he can't deny. His first real foray into the world since he returned from the grave: if it doesn't go well, even he is capable of realising the psychological implications. And Remus has had enough one step forward, two steps back; he's been a functioning adult longer than most: there isn't much room for gradual transition when one's own parents are upset and repulsed by one's... condition. He's always been self-reliant and strong; his friends were a luxury, never a necessity. But since his resurrection, he's become dependent on Harry Potter in a way that he is becoming ever more disconcerted by: Remus looks for praise from Harry, seeks companionship and, in a strange way, guidance from him. For all he can remember being Harry's mentor, for all that was merely four years' time ago for Remus, Harry is now his protector, his saviour, his shelter, and Remus, though habitually self-recriminating, knows enough about himself to know that there is nothing that needs protecting.

Remus straightens his new set of robes once more, in the mirror, and accidentally catches Harry's green eyes. Harry looks a cross between proud and sullen and obviously trying not to be sullen; it comes out strangely mapped as a grimacing, black hole of a smile. Remus's answering smile is small, private, and quietly amused. He drops his hands from adjusting his sleeves to turn to look at Harry.

"You're sure you want to start so soon?" Harry says more than asks, because he already knows the answer.

"We've talked about this," Remus answers, and he's not meeting Harry's gaze anymore, but he's still smiling.

"You talked about it."

"I distinctly recall a reply in there."

"'Yes, Remus, I'm paying attention' isn't exactly the same as 'okay, I like this overwhelmingly abrupt shift in your established routine and think it is an excellent way to gradually transition back into normal life after a traumatising event.'"

Remus's eyebrow arcs upwards. "You said, 'if that's what you want, we'll make it happen.' Which, I'd like to point out, it is."

"I thought you meant as a longterm goal. I didn't realise you and Hermione were conspiring already to obtain a dangerous assignment with long hours and extreme burn out rates."

"I can't sit around here forever, Harry." Remus is gentle, places a brief hand on Harry's shoulder, who really does grimace without bothering to hide it this time.

"I never said I wanted you to, but I at least wish you would have gone to Magical Law Enforcement, or maybe even Muggle Artifacts, or really _anything_ that wasn't..."

"Well, I did ask about the Auror's office, but apparently they weren't interested," Remus says lightly, his tone teasing. Harry groans, removes his glasses, squeezes his eyes closed, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Please tell me this isn't all about _that_. I wasn't trying to be a dick, Remus, it's for my safety as much as your own-"

"I know that," Remus answers. "It's not about that. It's not about anything, other than needing to have something new to build on."

"You've got Teddy," Harry answers, nearly plaintively. And then, almost reluctantly: "You have me."

"Teddy's gone for another two weeks, at least, and you can't be the only person in my life forever, Harry."

"I'm not suggesting it," Harry answers quickly, scowling magnificently.

Remus laughs. "You're suggesting it a bit,"

Harry holds his glasses in front of his face again to look through the lenses at Remus's expression, although looking for what, Remus cannot guess. "A little bit," Harry agrees finally. "It's been nice to have someone around. Makes me feel like less of a curmudgeon."

"You're still plenty curmudgeonly with or without my help," Remus grins outright.

"Probably." Harry redons his glasses properly as Remus crosses to his wardrobe to look for a decent tie. Fashion has changed since Remus was last living; robes are tailored more fitly, and are almost reminiscent of Muggle businesswear. Ties are apparently less of a novelty than once they had been. Personally, Remus feels ridiculous in the new clothes, but living on Harry's credit, he's in no position to vocalise his complaints. Remus fumbles for a moment with the strip of cloth, before Harry, sighing, gets up to assist him. They both inhale unconsciously in their proximity, but neither comment on it.

"Just try not to get hurt," Harry says at length, straightening the knot, and keeping his eyes fixed resolutely on Remus's Adam's apple. "Don't take candy from stranger. Don't play with silver bullets or aconite. Safety first; that kind of thing."

"Wolfsbane and silver," Remus chuckles, "are generally in short supply amongst werewolves."

"Yeah well, homicidal maniacs less so," Harry answers darkly. "For all we're progressively outreaching towards them, Remus, the packs especially don't always integrate nicely. Not many Fenrir Greybacks, but you'll be dealing with your fair share of troubled, rebellious youth."

"And I know nothing at all about teenage werewolves," Remus says drily. "Harry, I'm just a mentor for transitioning afflicted. I'll be interacting with pack dynamics on a pure minimal, just long enough to tell them to get lost and stop recruiting kids."

"They'll try to recruit you instead," Harry answers, readily, meeting Remus's placation with a very sober stare. Remus can tell that the thought is not occurring to Harry for the first time, but he has no idea what, if anything, to make of this information. "You know that, right? And when you refuse," Harry continues (and it only occurs to Remus much later that Harry never even considered the possibility that Remus could be tempted by their offers), "you'll be on someone's list."

"You make it all sound so much more organised than it actually is," Remus smiles, walking around Harry to leave the room. Harry followed him down the corridor to the stairs. "Werewolves aren't... Not a lot of them have much of an attention span. There's no chain of command other than Alpha is in charge, and one Alpha is as likely to take out another Alpha as any human. There's little loyalty, and less camaraderie. There's really no list to _be_ on, and even if there was, I wouldn't make the cut. I'm not an asset. I'm old, and _domesticated._"

Remus doesn't have to glance over his shoulder to know Harry is rolling his eyes. "You're underestimating yourself. And them."

"Well, I guess I'm bound to find out the hard way, then," Remus answers, approaching the front door. He is off to find one of the Ministry's visitor's entrances in a phone box not far from Harry's house, for the first week at least. Afterward, the ministry will consider authorising a brief connection to the floo network every morning, for convenience. Harry is, apparently, one of less than a dozen Ministry officials authorised to Apparate directly into the Ministry: a courtesy he abuses happily and is, much to his annoyance, unable to prevail upon the Ministry to extend to the other member of his household.

"Let's hope not," Harry answers. And then, he places a hand on Remus's shoulder. "Hey. I mean it. Be careful. I'll stop by later to see how it's going."

Harry is standing close, and Remus feels himself leaning slightly towards him before he recalls himself and stands straight. "I look forward to it," he replies a little brusquely, and leaves.

"And here's your desk. It's not much," Amanda–_oh god, please call me Mandy–_ Hopkirk says with a rueful smile, "but, well. Welcome to social service."

It isn't much at all. It is already covered with forms and paperwork that has accumulated from other office members looking to put something somewhere and not having enough space of their own, and one side is slightly lower than the other, so a marble placed on its surface would roll slowly, inexorably, like water down a drain. Its accompanying chair is roughly still considered thus, and holds its office only insofar as Remus presumes it would be safe to sit in it for short periods of time while he rummages in one of the desk drawers. Which, on that topic, seem to have once been the host of some olifactively offensive Weasely product or other. Remus doesn't particularly mind, though; he'll be seeing the minimum of this office: his work is largely field work, not an unhealthy portion of which will be served within Hogwarts itself, and paperwork he can as easily take home to complete.

Home. Not Harry's. Remus only pauses slightly when he notices his own thought process.

"Are you related to Mafalda Hopkirk?" Remus asks, standing from the shabby chair and looking at Mandy. She is a reasonably pretty woman, in her late twenties with orange-red hair and a slightly ruddy complexion, and pleasantly unsubtle curves. Judging her shoes and eyeliner, she seems to favour a shade of aqua that isn't entirely flattering, but brings out a spark of quirk in an otherwise no-nonsense personality. She is young to be in charge of her own department at the Ministry, but Remus instantly feels her efficiency and dedication that she brings to her position.

"She was my great aunt," Mandy answers carefully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She wears it down, which Remus finds compelling. "I didn't know her very well, though."

"She used to send nearly weekly letters about violating underage wizardry laws to my friends James and Sirius in school," Remus says with a small smile. "Received one or two of them myself, I'm afraid."

He notices Mandy's slightly strained smile, and decides to shut up about Sirius Black, whom, while having been declared innocent long ago, is still something of an urban horror story in the wizarding community.

"She passed on about three years ago, unfortunately," Mandy says politely. "She used to send the best marzipan on my birthdays, though."

Remus nods. "Well, when do I get to meet my new troubled adolescent companions?"

Mandy breaks into a genuine smile. "We'll go to Hogwarts today. There's a young woman I'm quite eager for you to be acquainted with, called Celina Stiles. She came down with lycanthropy last summer, and this term's been an absolute _bear_ for her, but she's exceptionally bright..."

A/N: IT'S A SECOND CHAPTER WITHIN A MONTH

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN

AND WHY

Always soliciting more reviews, comrades. Seriously, I'm not looking for more than "THIS STORY NEEDS MORE BUTTSEX AND DICKS AND DICK JOKES WHERE ARE MY BUTTSEXES AND DICKS AND DICK JOKES I DEMAND A REFUND I WILL ACCEPT ONLY PAYMENT IN FORM OF BUTTSEX DICKS AND DICK JOKES THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME."

But seriously, people who give me concrit will be awarded with thankings (and possibly dick jokes), and anyone who wants to volunteer as a chapter beta (YOU TOO CAN HAVE A BYLINE JUST LIKE BAYGIRL927) need only mention in that glorious review box or via PM.


	20. 078 DRINK

Chapter 020. 1,900 words.  
>Theme Seventy-Eight. Drink.<p>

Halloween is something of a production; apparently, there is a large to-do at the Ministry, which Harry is unofficially required to attend. Remus thinks very seriously about skipping out and using a night in to collect his thoughts on the past week, his first of employment, and it's not an avoidance tactic so much as self-preservation. There is little bureaucrats love more, Remus is starting to learn, than gossip. Whether it is because they are so used to political maneuvering that it's become as much a bargaining tool as a pastime or it's a floatation device to keep their tiny, dreadfully dull lives from drowning into complacency, he doesn't know. All he knows for certain is that he's been the target of whispers and unsubtle prying since his first day at the Ministry, and as word has spread about his employment, it's only become worse.

And that _thing _keeps happening. People are making _assumptions, _or trying to at least, and not disguising their frustration when Remus does not play into their hands by confirming their rumours. _It's so nice to see Mr Potter finally moving on from the tragedy of his poor wife, for which I'm sure we have you to thank, Mr Lupin. _And, _Tell us, Mr. Lupin, is Harry this charming at home, as well?_ And, _Well, it's just wonderful for young Theodore, I'm sure, to see both of his fathers so happy._ Remus thought getting a job and some distance between Harry and himself would alleviate the talk, but instead it's become worse, because now he has to listen to it all the more frequently. Remus isn't one to really mind harmless, if banal nosiness like this, but something about the situation puts Remus particularly ill at ease. He refuses to examine it too closely, preferring just to avoid the situation altogether.

Which was his intended attitude regarding the Ministry's Halloween Gala, but there had been something so genuinely disappointed in Mandy Hopkirk's face when she asked, "oh, so you don't think you'll be there?"

For all Remus is convinced he wants nothing to do with romantic relationships, for all he still lies awake at night and thinks about the last time he saw Tonks, the morning before the battle, asleep in the blue armchair by Teddy's cradle...

Well, despite all that, Mandy is very kind, and it is very, very nice to feel sincerely like he is more of a help than a burden in someone's life.

So he changes his mind.

Looking resplendent in the best pair of dress robes he has ever owned in his life, which he can only afford because Harry insists on not letting Remus pay rent, Remus sticks to the wall of the main lobby like a shy adolescent girl.

He doesn't look away from the fountain as Harry approaches him.

"Should I invite you to dance?" Harry asks, teasing. Remus sips his punch.

"I'm sure I'd never deprive the masses of your company like that," he says. "Lycanthrope or no, I don't know that I could handle the fallout from your admirers."

"My what?" Harry laughs, incredulous. He takes the glass right out of Remus's hand and drains it before grabbing another from a passing server.

"A frailer girl than Ms Brown may have collapsed under the weight of the collective glare from the female populace when you released her after the last song," Remus observes wryly.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Well, we can't have you glued to this spot all night. Where's Ms Hopkirk? Shall we bribe her to guide you 'round the dancefloor?"

"Not just now. She's looking rather friendly with Joseph Cielle, over from Arthur's department."

"Oh, well that's terribly chivalrous of you, not getting jealous, and all that." Harry says with a ghost of a smile.

"Not sure what I'm meant to be jealous of," Remus replies archly. Harry laughs in that warm way that indicates a slight tipsiness.

"Go ask her to dance next round, or I'll tell her you've asked to see her and it's very urgent."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I thought I was going to a ball for the Ministry of Magic, not damned first years at Hogwarts."

"The fact that you can so easily distinguish between the two groups just shows how new you are around here," Harry answers. Afterward they lapse into comfortable silence.

"They all think we're shagging, you know." Harry says conversationally.

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Yes, I do."

Harry shrugs. "It's not terribly important to me, I'm always meant to be sleeping with someone I'm not according to someone else. But if you're uncomfortable, I'll make it stop."

"I'm not uncomfortable," Remus answers, and maybe too quickly, because when Harry turns to look at him his expression is unreadable. Remus clears his throat and elaborates, "I'm not a stranger to negative public opinion. It's almost nice to be topic of such a mundane rumour, for once."

"Well, as long as Mandy Hopkirk doesn't believe it, who really cares?" Harry says with the same teasing grin he'd had before. Remus rolls his eyes.

"I really hope this isn't going to become a thing with you, although I suspect it already has."

"You can take it out on me with loads of angry sex later," Harry answers drily, and Remus covers his undignified snort by clearing his throat again.

"Oh- I see the Scamanders. I'm going to go say hello. Don't feel obligated to wait for me if you want to leave."

"I think I'm all right for now, but I'll keep that in mind," Remus nods, watching Harry smile and then push his way past other circles of people to embrace a young blonde woman Remus eventually recognises as Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter. Harry greets her with a warm hug and a handshake for her husband. Remus finds himself, for the first of the evening, a little lonely. He grabs another drink from a passing server and wandered off aimlessly away from the main congregations into the eerily quiet, dimly lit Ministry corridors.

He walks without thinking, winding his way through department familiar and strange alike, navigating the hallways purely on whim, If he sees a portrait a bit down he wanted to examine more closely, or a statue he doesn't like the look of, even once an arguing couple who look like they want privacy ("Thomas is just waiting for the right _moment_, Edgar; he'll make his move any day," "He's lying, Catrina, he'll never be ready; you're better off with _me_,") he changes course accordingly. The portrait collection is not eclectic like Hogwarts'; the painted witches and wizards are usually former departmental heads, or occasionally financial contributors. He knows if he looks long enough, he'll find a Black portrait, staring imperiously down his nose at passerby. Remus quite accidentally finds Rufus Scrimgeour's portrait near the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, looking severe as ever. The corners of Scrimgeour's mouth turn down a bit as Remus approaches, but he makes no sign of recognition. Well, why would he? Remus had only been a destitute, disgraced werewolf during Scrimgeour's time. Order of the Phoenix operative or not, Remus's talents had always been in keeping himself _off_ any significant radar, which was, if he was honest with himself, partially why the present unavoidable attention makes him so unhappy.

"Looking a bit lost, boy." A voice says good-naturedly behind him, and Remus turns warily, and then smiles with unexpected pleasure.

"Andromeda," he greets, lifting his glass in a salute. Andromeda is having none of it, and laboriously limps over to seize Remus in a bone-crushing hug. Remus doesn't comment on her being out of bed in her condition, knowing how pointless it is to attempt to convince a Tonks of something he or she did not want to hear. Andromeda, of course, is a well-respected member of the community, and invited as a special guest of the Ministry to the Gala, but Remus hadn't thought she would be able to attend.

"You've not been to see me in at least three weeks. I know I'm old, not much fun as I used to be, but I found the nicest vintage wine in my attic last week. I'm not sure why we kept it, because Ted came up with the nicest little charm that ages drink for you, fifty years in a second, but it was nice to find all the same."

"I'm sorry. Work is still very new. I don't think about much else right now."

"Well, I guess that's what it's for, isn't it?" Andromeda answers astutely.

Remus looks away. "I still think about her, if that's what you're asking. Too often, if possible."

"I wish you wouldn't. I mean, don't get me wrong, dear, of course I don't want you forgetting my poor dear, dead daughter. But you've got your son and yourself to think about now, haven't you? And what's going on with you and Potter, eh?"

Remus chuckles. "Not nearly as much as everyone seems to think."

Well, that always seems to be the case, doesn't it. Anyone else, then?"

Remus starts to shake his head, but stops himself and shrugs. "I don't know. There could be, but it's too early to... I don't really think I'm in a place for a relationship right now."

"Well, no, I wouldn't think so," Andromeda agrees. "But eventually, this mania will settle down, and you'll find yourself in the habit of life again. And you may look up, and notice an attraction to someone. And that wouldn't be a bad thing."

Remus grimaces. "I don't think it's as simple as that."

"It may or may not be. You can't know yet. You still bleed with Nymphadora's death like it happened yesterday, which I know, because I am a widow. But the heart doesn't stop. It scabs over, and then it heals. If you tell yourself that you're waiting out of deference to her, you are fooling yourself, child. There is no mandated mourning period. Only you can know when you are ready to move on."

Remus cannot help but remark, "It seems a lot of people are trying very hard to know for me."

Andromeda grins, and in that moment, she looks healthy as ever. "All right, point taken. But just so you know, boy, I've not given up hope on another grandchild yet."

Remus smiles, understanding. "Duly noted."

"Quite enough of that maudlin affair. Hand me the rest of that drink, and come sweep me across the dancefloor this instant, young man."

Remus agrees readily enough. It is the least he can do.

And maybe he would ask Mandy to dance, after all. He isn't ready for another relationship yet, no, but...

Well. That didn't mean he wouldn't ever be ready, did it?

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Chintz Chairs, via format layout, I am pleased to report I will granting your PoV switch shortly. Reviews, as ever, are greatly appreciated. There's a large, ugly blue button now to facilitate this exchange. I appreciate in advance your using it.


	21. 085 SPIRAL

Chapter 021. 1,000 words.  
>Theme Eighty-Five. Spiral.<p>

"So there's obvious sexual tension between you and Remus, and you aren't discussing it?" Jane Mullins summarised, crossing her legs and propping her chin on her fist.

"We've... alluded to it," Harry shrugged, thinking about Halloween night and _everyone thinks we're shagging you know_. "Or at least, the fact that everyone else thinks it's there. But not in any are-you-interested-in-pursuing-this sort of way. I think he fancies a witch from his department at the Ministry, anyway."

"And you're all right with that?"

"I am," Harry said, honestly. "Relieved, even. It's better this way. It'll calm things down, a bit."

"You don't want a relationship with Remus?"

"It'd be too... big." Harry explained weakly, miming a vague sphere, as though to encapsulate the issue. "He's been alive for two months for me, and for him he was fighting Dolohov one second and waking up in a grave twenty years later the next. I mean, we've barely become comfortable, and I know he's still hiding a lot of his grief from me. I don't think he trusts me much. I mean, not like friends trust each other."

"Do you trust him like friends trust each other?"

"I'm not really- I'm not the same person I was when I knew him twenty years ago. I don't really... I mean, I admire him, but I don't put him on any pedestal anymore. I don't do that with anyone, because I wouldn't want anyone to do that with me."

"So yes or no?"

"Yes. But also no. It's not a one-way street. If I'm going to open up to him, there's gotta be some reciprocation."

"Alright. Let's go back to something you said earlier: you said you thought a relationship with Remus would be 'too big.'" What did you mean by that?"

"Just that if we got involved it wouldn't have training wheels." At Mullins's blank stare he added, "I mean, it would be serious. It couldn't be a fling. There'd be a... a commitment entailed."

"And commitment's... bad?" Mullins asked with raised eyebrows and Harry groaned, removed his glasses, and put the heel of his hand too his closed eye and applied pressure.

"Walked right into that one." When he replaced his glasses and risked a glance at Mullins, her expression was blank, her eyebrows slowly settling back into their natural habitats. "I just meant that neither of us are really ready for it yet. I haven't really dated since- since Ginny, and he just _resurrected_ a few weeks ago, and I'm not an expert in coming back from death-"

"Aren't you?"

Harry smoothly ignored this and continued, "-but I have to assume it doesn't really make one overly inclined on building strong emotional attachments. And I am not the best boyfriend material, anyway. I'm drowning in work."

"Dolohov case, still?"

"Yeah. It's going... slowly. We're reopening interviews, which as you know were a bust the first time around, but we got the feeling there was something shifty, like we were the only ones who weren't getting the punchline to a joke. Something everyone else but us knew. I didn't like it. It wasn't a popular decision; nobody likes going to Azkaban; it's miserable, even without Dementors in our employ. But it's necessary."

"Why do you feel like that?"

Harry grimaced at her. "You're trying to assess whether I'm overstepping my bounds because of my personal connection to Remus, and his inevitable connection to Dolohov's death."

Her expression was void of any tell. "Are you?"

"No, I'm not. This case is... Dolohov hurt a lot of people. A lot of people I loved. A lot I didn't even know. I owe to them to..."

"Be a hero?" Mullins suggested. Harry scowled.

"I've been told I have a hero complex for twenty-two years. I'd like it if for once someone could just let me do my job without questioning my motives."

"I think we just want to make sure you're taking this as far as it can be logically expected to pan out, and not further. There's no point in exhausting yourself and departmental resources on a case that grows colder and has produced zero leads in its duration. Or at least instead of rehashing old ground, you could get a consult from another department who can take it to another angle."

"Maybe." Harry sighed, and reclined back in the uncomfortable leather armchair. "You need new furniture."

Mullins didn't roll her eyes, but Harry had known her long enough to sense a near thing when it passed. "Patient is evasive, and changes the subject when his managerial decisions are questioned," Mullins said aloud, mimicking scribbling on her notepad.

"Okay, all right, I get the point. I just don't know what you want from me, Jane. If I keep the case open, my men hate me, if I drop the case or even relegate it to the back-burner, half the Wizarding community hates me. I've got to keep working. You're right, I need to get a fresh perspective, but I also need to show everyone that I'm still actively pursuing answers to these questions."

"All right, well. Your the expert, Mr Potter. I think that's all the time we have today. Any last minute thoughts?"

"One of these days I'll walk out of here feeling _less_ confused than when I walked in," Harry suggested, and Mullins blinked at him. Harry amended, "Yeah, no, probably not," and left, thoughts a hurricane, a spiral of destruction, wearing the edges of his mind, and leaving a migraine in their wake.

**;**

Author's Notes: That took a while. Sorry, dudes. Thanks for your super nifty comments though, comrades! It's wonderful to hear from you all, especially those who leave concrit for me. Always looking to improve. Anyway. Pottermore House Cup is on 05 July, and I'm sort of nervous. Gryffindors and Slytherins are neck-in neck, hurtling breakneck speed towards the Cup, and there is seriously no telling who's going to win. Kind of worried! If any other Gryffindors out there want to lend me some potions ingredients, seeing as how I'm pants at Duelling, I'm SkullHazel3585. Also anyone else, but if you challenge me to a Duel I may cry. All for this time. I'll try not to take too long to update again, but I'm like WSABH!Harry in that work is seriously killing my brain kksggdsflmgdfgadfg.

**ALSO SOMEBODY BE A DEAR AND MOCK UP A COVER FOR THIS JANX BECAUSE I CAN'T BE ARSED TO DO.**


	22. 096 IN THE STORM

So I accidentally a hiatus. Step one: go take a quick refresher course by rereading all of the story and leaving comments (on anon if you've already left them) and telling me how much of a dick I am for having a career.

Chapter 022. 2,000 words.  
>Theme Ninety-Six. In the Storm.<p>

Harry grimaced at the unpleasantness before him: a drooling former Death Eater sprawled in a merciless metal chair that was bolted to the floor of a cell that smelled rankly of dried piss and despair. Between him and the erstwhile Death Eater, a young deputy Auror, just out of training, chest heaving, looking scarcely more rational that the criminal. It was a sad tableau of justice; a defenseless criminal, insensate with pain, bound and receiving repeated and increasingly desperate forms of torture; a young servant of the Law, teeth bared in a snarl as a more tenured Auror threw questions towards the interrogated like darts towards a bullseye; yet never quite hitting the centre.

The criminal's name was Dolwood, and he had been the late Antonin Dolohov's cellmate at Azkaban.

This was by no means the first time he was being questioned.

"You can't expect us to believe," Auror Silva said, voice lush with a lazy Spanish drawl that made Harry's toes curl. "That you have given us _all_ the information you have about the... situation."

"I don't know what else you want from me. If you're looking for an excuse to kill me, you have everything you will ever receive, so just kill me and claim it was another accident." Dolwood was only a little older than Harry. That meant, of course, that he was a bit past forty, and so really he hadn't age to claim as a sympathetic point, but unlike Harry, who had walked away from the war and made a life and gone on to worry about other things, even if those other things were his wife dying and being left with three children and-

No. He wouldn't bring his family here. Those thoughts belonged at home, in the office, with friends, or sometimes, the darkest times, behind closed doors; alone. Not here. Not when he was torturing a man out of his sanity. His children would have no part in that. He'd spent the last two decades making sure of that.

The fact remained. Harry had gotten to move on. This man, who had only been a boy at the time, really, only nineteen; had gotten swept up with youthful vigour in the name of a cause his parents told him was just; had paid for it these twenty years since.

He'd never grown up. He was still nineteen, because he'd never gotten a chance to learn not to be. That was Harry's fault.

There had been ideas of amnesty for the second wave of the Death Eater cult, as so many people had become subject to their rule, and so many would have to pay penance in some format. But after the first War, there had been a lot of forgiveness. Thirteen criminals and an innocent man locked away forever, and how many Lucius Malfoys had been left to walk the streets? Harry had been sensitive to the scale which Voldemort had influenced daily life, but he also recognised that Dumbledore's goodwill and belief in second chances had made it all the easier for Voldemort's resurgence. He'd had to make difficult decisions, back then; barely a man, not fully emotionally developed, certainly. Argued with the Wizengamot for days about what was the _line_- what was just survival, and what was cruel to the extent that it could not be seen fit to let that sort of inhumanity still roam free, without consequence. And every time they'd come to a conclusion, there would be another wizard who had had to torture a Muggle family because not doing so would result in the execution of his own, or a witch who had used the Killing Curse on her own half-blood daughter rather than let the Death Eaters rape her until they killed her themselves. Trying to publish a law against these barbarians was fruitless. In the end, cases were judged on their own, based on what evidence could be provided, and in some form corroborated. Precedents were established on what had taken place five minutes ago in the last trial as an endless, endless weeks were spent judging people who did not deserve to be judged or that did, and with no way of delineating between the two. Countless gallons of truth serum was commissioned those months; an entire task force of Potions Masters working day and night. But truth serums have antidotes or individuals natural tolerances, and everyone knew it was par for the course that Death Eater inductees from day one of initiation began building tolerance by taking and resisting controlled dosages.

For all it had plagued him as a teenager, being taken seriously quickly lost its novelty. It had been Hell to decide right from wrong almost arbitrarily, as bad as the war, and Harry would never have gotten through without Ginny.

No, not here.

Harry had been part of the council that made final decisions on punishments for war crimes. The youngest Wizengamot seat holder since the 1500s. He'd told himself at the beginning that he'd never forget the name of a man he'd condemned to prison for life. He'd accept responsibility. Thirty such decisions later, he started writing them down. Sixty, he stopped When he'd come back to Azkaban to meet Dolwood the first time, he had read his case file to prepare for the interrogation. He'd remembered nothing. Not one detail stood out. He could have been one of hundreds of people Harry had locked away, signifcant only because he was alphabetically the prisoner next in line after Dolohov. And Harry had put him there. And if he were any other prisoner, or in any other wing, he'd be exercising his right to stare at the ceiling for hours on in. Not comfortable, maybe. But also not half-dead, covered in his own mingled blood and vomit.

"Put him back," Harry said tiredly, as Auror Long pulled his wand arm up, as though through liquid, to begin another round of the Cruciatus curse. "Put him back in his cell."

"Sir, I think we're close to a breakthrough," Silva turned to him eagerly, his eyes glinting with something malicious that used to make Harry throw people in prison even if their story sounded legitimate.

"I said put him back. We're done for today."

"Don't have pity on me, just kill-" Dolwood began at the same time as Aurors Silva and Long began voiing their objections.

"He said it was fucking over; you are seriously overstepping your bounds, Auror Long, and Auror Silva, you are setting a prime fucking example for insubordination. You do what Auror Potter says when he says it." Auror Weasley growled. Ron had developed a finely-tuned sense of authority over the years; a necessity, when Harry wouldn't take anyone else as his second-in-command, nor no as an answer.

"Get him back to his cell, get back to HQ for the after-action review, and then go relieve yourselves for the evening, both of you." Harry said calmly. The younger Aurors didn't look at each other as they said the incantations to release Dolwood from his bonds and half-carry him from the room.

"You all right?" Ron asked once they had left.

"I was wondering if Ginny would be proud of me," Harry shrugged, turning towards him, but not making eye contact. Which was not easy. The room was hard to look at. Concrete everything, and deep shadow blue in its highlights. It was dismal.

"I don't have to answer that. You already know she would." Ron put a light, anchoring hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I feel like I'm injuring a child every time we interrogate that man," Harry said bitterly.

"You're not. He choked supporters of Dumbledore with their own severed arms. He was a feind."

"He was. Who's to say he wouldn't have turned out all right, if we had tried to rehabilitate him?"

"Who's to say _he_ didn't kill Dolohov?"

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, either."

"You don't believe that." Harry didn't say anything, and Ron narrowed his eyes. "You don't."

"Dolohov killed Remus."

"But you didn't believe back then that we should kill him. Others were in favour of the death penalty. You weren't. You may have put away some people, but it was for the good of our society. Do you want that fucker in Diagon Alley when Lily is getting her schoolbooks next year?"

Which did help to put things in perspective, somewhat. "It's not right, all the way around, is all I'm saying."

"Ginny was proud of you," Ron repeated. "I'm proud of you. Hermione is proud of you. Your children all worship you."

_But I don't deserve it,_ Harry thought. _I may not have killed anyone, but I've ruined near as many lives as Voldemort ever did._

"I think you should go home, too, Harry," Ron said, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder. "I can debrief them. Go home. Isn't Remus off today?"

"You don't mind?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I did." Which was patently untrue, but Harry nodded and left the cell, aiming for the fireplace in the Warden's office.

Harry got home within thirty minutes, after stopping by the office to grab some paperwork to finish that night. He was startled to find it was still daylight hours. In the storm of his consciousness, tearing itself to shreds on little reminders of all he had done and lost, all was dark and wet and up-ended and broken.

"You're home early," Remus smiled when Harry came in the kitchen.

It was such a cliché of the greeting a homemaking wife would give the breadwinning husband that Harry had to chuckle. "It doesn't feel like it."

"Long day, I take it?" Remus was up from the table and at the cabinet for the teapot, and any moment the coziness would give way, and it would just be strange, Harry knew, because good things didn't just happen to him.

"Incredibly."

"Are you back for lunch or are you staying?"

"Staying, with any luck." He sat down at the kitchen table and let Remus make him tea, just this once, without commenting on not needing to be take care of.

"Well, good," Rermus said, still smiling in that gentle way. Ginny had never really smiled like that until she became a mother. In her youth she had been fireworks; endless fireworks, and Harry had loved her so, so much; it was always New Years with Ginny, always summer Quidditch Tournaments, and always everything in between. Harry had loved her most as a mother, though. There was something Mullins would have a lot of interest in, he was sure. But when she had their son and began mimicking her mother's speech patterns and setting coupons to cut themselves from magazines even though Harry was rich and baking, which she was always awful at, they both were, but he could make pasta and she could make breakfast so between them they had most of the day covered...

Harry wasn't aware he was crying until he simultaneously became aware that Remus had his arms around Harry's shoulders from behind and he was kissing Harry's hair and murmuring some soothing things.

"I don't want you to be disappointed in me. And I don't want to kill you." Harry said hoarsely, nonsensically, still crying, and it should have startled Remus, but it didn't.

"I'm not, love. You won't. Don't worry."

And Harry cried like he never had before.  
><strong>;<strong>

A/N: Hooboy. I feel like I owe you an explanation, but it's really all very uninteresting and work-related, so just know how sorry I am that I wandered off for so long! Thanks to all my returning readers, and welcome to anyone new! If you've anything you'd like to contribute to this 'verse, feel free to play in the sandbox. I still need a book cover, guys!

-D


End file.
